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P E HUDSON 






The Countess Bettina 

THE HISTORY OF AN INNOCENT SCANDAL 

Edited by “Rd 


MAY 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 



NEW YORK \ D LONDON 

Entered at New York Post'omce as Second Class Matter 






Works by Anna Katharine Green 


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ing girl, the reader is absorbed and thrilled and wrought up to the 


THE COUNTESS BETTINA 

THE HISTORY OF AN 
INNOCENT SCANDAL 



“ I must own the tale trips upon a very airy Vj 
foot, — within a measurable distance of unreality.” 


A GOSSIP ON A NOVEL OF DUMAS'S. 



EDITED BY “R.” 


MAY 23 






G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 

®I n finickcibockcr |)rcss 

1895 


Copyright, 1895 
BY 

G. P. FUTNAM’S SONS 


\ 


^Tbe Tknicfeerbocfccr ipvcss, IRew l?orfc 


TO 

MADEMOISELLE H. 

IN HAUTE-SAONE 


% 










/ 









CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


PAGE 

How in May, 1892, T Came to Mentone, and Prow I 

Saw a Pretty Gambler at Monte Carlo . . . 1 

CHAPTER II. 

How Mentone may be Frequented by Personages, and 

How I Rode of a Morning Along a Cliff Path . . 12 

CHAPTER III. 

How the Major was Suspicious of my Social Position, and 
How I was Forced to Reflect on the Uncertainty of 
Assignations ........ 21 


CHAPTER IV. 

On Wilfulness, a Will, and a Way .... 28 

CHAPTER V. 

On the Advantages and Disadvantages of Pour-Boires . 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

On the Inconvenience of Knowing Asses, and the 
Convenience of Plolding the Esteem of Possible 
Chaperons ........ 72 


v 


VI 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

How the Countess Bettina Thought of Her Old Days in 

Perigord, and How I Bade Her Ati revoir . . 88 

CHAPTER VIII. 

On the Folly of Meddling with Other People’s Affairs 

When Our Own Want Mending . . . >98 

CHAPTER IX. 

How I Found in Monsieur de Perigord a Nobleman of 

Several Mediaeval Ideas ...... 107 

CHAPTER X. 

On the Genius of Guido Reni ; the Truth of Lord Byron’s 
“ Prisoner of Chillon ” ; and the Uncertainty of Ships 
on the Sea ........ 121 

CHAPTER XI. 

Proving the Truth of the Prince in the Fairy-Tale . . 135 

CHAPTER XII. 

H ow the Duke of Vaucluse Went to Perigord . . . 147 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Brace of Pistols . . . . . . .157 

CHAPTER XIV. 

By Candlelight at the Red Fox . . . . . i$7 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Convent of the Sisters of Saint Francis , . .172 


Contents . 


vii 


CHAPTER XVI. 

page 

The Mother Superior . . . . . . .180 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A Further Proof of Pierre Gallaudet’s Wit . . .186 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

An Anarchist with a Donkey-Cart . . . . ig 5 

CHAPTER XIX. 

“ The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men Gang-aft 


A-gley ” 

. 209 


CHAPTER XX. 


On the Pleasures of Liberty . . . . . .219 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Little Great Lady of Perigord .... 228 
CHAPTER XXII. 

The Chateau of the Duchess de Chatillon in Haute-Saone, 237 
CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Epilogue : On the Advantages Sometimes Accruing 

to Those Who Meddle with Other People’s Affairs . 247 







































































































The Countess Bettina. 


CHAPTER I. 

How in May , i8q 2, I came to Mentone , and how I saw a 
Pretty Gambler at Monte Carlo. 

Going in my convalescence from Constanti- 
nople to Athens, and thence to Rome, where I 
spent Easter week, I went on to Florence, where 
on the brow of a hill among May roses, and 
Florentine traditions, certain good friends lead 
a life charming and artistic, overlooking the ex- 
quisite town that in its past did so much for the 
endeavor of Art, which is the effort of animal- 
ism to see nature truly, spiritually, as God in- 
tended. Delightful although that villa always 
is to me, I was called back to England to report 
to Lord Burton more fully than the pen could, 
and so with my few boxes, and Dorsey, I left 

i 


2 


The Countess Bettina. 


Florence, stopped two days at Genoa, and then 
went on up to Mentone, where I intended to 
wait a week, the season being over, entirely by 
myself. My appointment with Lord Burton, 
he being on his return from India, was for the 
first week in June. My hardships in the Bal- 
kan peninsula, and the fever following, had left 
me not unwilling to avail myself of a few restful 
days with nobody at all around. Mentone was 
the spot for my mood. Should I wish Monte 
Carlo was not far removed on the Corniche 
drive, or a quarter hour by rail. 

As it happened the town proved almost too 
quiet, too much deserted. The hotels were 
closed, and Dorsey and myself had almost de- 
cided our only resource was to try a lodging, 
when the man in Cook’s suggested one hotel 
on the upper terrace with a far stretching ex- 
panse of blue sea, gray in the distance. That 
afternoon the sun beat down. The roses clam- 
bered into the windows. Monsieur, a Swiss, 
was sorry, but he was fearful Monsieur would 
not be pleased to have to leave certainly Tues- 
day. He only had six guests left. A little 
woman with crocheting, sitting on the porch, 
overhearing this, arose. 


3 


Of a Pretty Gambler . 

“ Ah, and Madame is English ! ” said I, for 
she was young, and pretty, and her cheeks told 
of the moist air, reputed the best for com- 
plexions. 

“ And Monsieur, too.” 

“ Partly, Madame, of Shropshire, my moth- 
er’s county. Do you know it ? ” 

“ I was born there, bless the green grass, and 
the hedges, and the people.” 

“ Ah, Monsieur,” said the Swiss, “ Madame 
you see, is still English.” 

“ At heart, Monsieur, and we could not turn 
away a gentleman from my country.” 

“ My wife’s country ! If the gentleman won’t 
object to so short a stay he can have for five 
days, really the whole of one floor.” And 
Madame smiled a delightful English smile, and 
I was installed with my belongings in a neat 
little room overlooking town and sea, and with 
the roses climbing into my window bringing 
the sweetness of a soft hour and of spring per- 
petually touching on summer. 

For the first two days I was content to do 
nothing at all, to bask in sunshine, to take the 
repose the occasion offered, for I did not know 
but that Lord Burton on my return would have 


4 


The Countess Bettina. 


some other service to offer. But, such being 
the spirit of human restlessness, the third day 1 
ventured over to the domains of the extremely 
successful, in a financial way, Prince of Monaco. 
They say his ancestors were robbers and pirates, 
and, so, indeed, is His Excellency, as the rent- 
ing of the privilege of his domain to an associa- 
tion of gamblers, proves certainly to a person 
with the least bit of the Puritan in his compo- 
sition. I protest I have none of it in mine. 
The Daltons of Sussex were cavaliers to the 
last, spending time and money for the lost 
cause both in 1715, and in 1745. But still I 
have prejudices about how you make money, 
although, as merrily as my ancestors, I gambled 
that morning at Monte Carlo, and after various 
extremes of luck and bad luck, stopped twelve 
pounds the loser ; and then having satisfied my 
fever, I looked about at that crowd, its variety 
changeless in or out of season. Here were the 
same set, hungry faces,- — -the same rouged, 
experienced, man-devouring ones, the same 
mixture of English and French, German and 
Italian, Russian and Yankee, the same inno- 
cence daringly elbowing vice; and some people 
I knew. I had slipt out of quiet by that drive 


Of a Pretty Gambler. 


5 


along the cliffs from Mentone to the Casino of 
Monte Carlo. I regretted the coming, and yet 
my few days out of the world had made me 
eager for its taste again. Certain pretty women 
caught my attention. I stopped to speak to 
one who asked where in the world out of the 
world I had been so long. I fancied a bit of 
real regret such as men some time removed 
from society are likely to wish in women’s eyes. 
She was chattering with interminable gossip of 
people, and scandals, of the season which she 
had just left at Hyde Park corner, of a new 
American beauty, of Lady Merry’s indiscre- 
tions, of a prince’s infatuation, when, assenting 
and listening, delighted with the old-time chat- 
ter, my attention was caught by a face at a cer- 
tain table and for the moment I forgot Lady 
Fanny’s tones and face in contemplating her 
who for the first time, I saw there, and who in- 
deed made other women inferior. 

I have known many in my time, have had 
my experiences like all men ; my whims and 
notions, you may believe ; reaped my tares. 
I was not certain of the face I saw that day in 
the gaming-room, nor could I be sure whether 
its owner were experienced, or inexperienced. 


6 


The Countess Bettina. 


But in its way it was charming ; I stop at the 
adjective ; I am not the only one who has been 
charmed by it. What attracts more attention 
than the sight of one of God’s best faces, such 
as He imagined out of His purity. The owner 
of this face, I was to know, was of ancient, noble 
race. She could sit, as she did that day, side 
by side with contamination and never fancy it ; 
a girl’s face, I decided, regular features, framed 
by blonde hair of the exquisite golden shade, 
with eyes, whose color I could not tell at first. 
All the quality of girlhood was there, with a cer- 
tain something showing spirit, daring. Here was 
a woman (only now I said a girl) who would re- 
spect conventionalities, but could be superior 
to them if so her whim led her. I, myself, am 
whimsical, have done many things convention 
has scouted me for, and possibly I saw in this 
young lady’s face something of my own nature 
in being senselessly headstrong over my own 
notions. That was the reason she was gaming 
there. She had dared it for the exciting wicked- 
ness of the experience. I decided all this in a 
moment, you have seen, not dreaming I was 
reading her rightly, nor that before many days 
I was to have the chance to prove or disprove 


7 


Of a Pretty Gambler . 

these conjectures. I have come never to make 
predictions about what may or may not hap- 
pen, to hold nothing in experience strictly 
impossible. 

“ I don’t blame you for not listening to my 
chatter,” said Lady Fanny. “ It ’s an interest- 
ing face. Do you notice the two servants ? ” 

I indeed had not noted them, but only her. 
Now I saw a woman, evidently a companion, 
for she was dressed as a lady, and a tall servitor 
in a green livery, at the corners of the pretty 
gambler’s chair. 

Lady Fanny was regarding the table with her 
lorgnette. 

“ It ’s the livery of Perigord,” she said, “ And 
she ” 

I remembered oddly that Montaigne was a 
gentleman of Perigord, and then that the name 
attached to another place, the region between 
Switzerland and Alsace. The Counts of Peri- 
gord had been independent sovereigns whose 
rights had been respected even by Napoleon 
for certain reasons of policy. Bismarck had 
taken away their sovereignty, leaving them 
their possessions on which deposits of coal de- 
veloped enormous wealth. The Counts of Peri- 


8 


The Countess Bettina. 


gord, like the Rothschilds, are names with which 
to conjure. They have made royal alliances, 
and to-day their position only can be touched 
by the coming revolution. 

“ And she ? ” asked I of Lady Fanny. 

“ The Countess Bettina of Perigord, — out of 
my reach, and yours, poor Dalton, unless you 
were a prince.” 

“ It ’s a charming face.” 

“ Ah, yes.” 

“ But is n’t it rather unconventional for her 
to be here, Lady Fanny ? ” 

“ Pooh, did convention ever bother a Peri- 
gord ? And that young lady you admire, they 
say, has all of the family traits, with some 
Scotch. Her mother was a Melrose, you re- 
member. That accounts for her eyes. They ’re 
blue. She ’s the richest heiress in Europe, I ’m 
told. I dare say she came here on a freak. 
Ah, but there are others, possibly the Estes. 
You know her engagement has been announced 
to the Prince of Este. Do you see the man by 
her chair? ” 

This person who looked the German was 
beaming urbanely. The Countess Bettina had 
risen, sweeping some gold toward her com- 


9 


Of a Pretty Gambler . 

panion. Her face was dimpling to the new- 
comer, some royalty, I supposed. Everything 
is possible in the domains of His Highness of 
Monaco. 

“ Ah, she ’s been winning,” quoth Lady 
Fanny, from behind her lorgnette. 

I suppose I was staring. “ I don’t know, I ’m 
sure.” Suddenly the Countess Bettina turned. 
Her eyes were full on me for an instant. We 
looked each other in the face, she of the Peri- 
gords, Counts of the German Empire, and I of 
the Daltons who have served England, and 
English people on the seas; a daring, challeng- 
ing, inquiring, charming, girlish face. Some 
people swept up. She turned, as if disdainfully, 
as a princess might, to this crowd of people, who 
seemed to absorb her. I wanted to be of them, 
among them. They passed down the room, per- 
sonages evidently. People noted their ap- 
proach with a little buzz. The servant in the 
dark green of Perigord followed, and they were 
gone. I noticed she was tall, that she would 
have reached to my chin. 

“ The Prince of Este.” 

“Yes,” Lady Fanny laughed, “ Este joins on 
Bavaria.” 


The Countess Bettina . 


io 

“Yes, I know — I know, Lady Fanny.” 

“ I don’t blame you. Many other men have. 
She is the finest face among them all, I ’m sure. 
Come, I ’m tired of this place. You must dine 
with us. Tom never will forgive me unless I 
bring you.” 

“ Oh, thanks, I must go back, — thanks 
awfully, Lady Fanny, it ’s good of you to take 
pity on my forlorn condition.” 

She looked me over quizzically. 

“ Ah, no, for I can’t. That cant is horrid.” 

“I don’t believe you in the least. Adieu, 
Jack Dalton.” 

“ Au revoir , Lady Fanny.” 

I drove back along the Corniche Cliffs, while 
the moon hung above the sea. And I was 
thinking of the Countess Bettina of Perigord. 
I would like to know her. Pooh, how absurd. 
Know Heaven, know the angels ! She certainly 
was beyond me. A shepherd sang as we passed. 
A detachment of the coast guard went by, 
their horses leaving a clattering. The air of 
the Riviera seemed scented with roses. Ah, 
yes, the Countess Bettina! Fool that I was, 
over the face of a pretty gambler, and she a 


Of a Pretty Gambler. 1 1 

great lady. But what wills Allah ! as the be- 
liever says, turning his face to Mecca, the more 
devoutly, I dare say, because in fatalism always 
is the comfort of an excuse for sin. 


CHAPTER II. 


How Mentone ?nay be Frequented by Personages , and how I 
Rode of a Morning along a Cliff Path. 

Madame was standing on her piazza, when at 
last my dark, loquacious cabby of Mentone 
brought his vehicle to the hotel terrace, where 
two gendarmes were walking, their short, trim 
figures showing in the light from the opened 
door. 

“ Madame, we are guarded,” said I, divining 
a possibility in the course of events on the 
Riviera. 

“ We have had some great people come down 
on us, sir,” she said, curtseying. 

“A king? or a millionaire?” quoth I. 

“ The King of Sweden and his suite have 
taken all the floor, save your room. His 
Majesty is travelling incognito, and least of all 
does he wish to disturb our guests.” 

“ Ah, it ’s very considerate.” 

“Yes, sir, really great people cause so much 
less trouble than new millionaires,” 


12 


On a Narrow Path. 13 

“ It will not bother me a whit, Madame, to be 
moved.” 

“ Ah, it ’s only as you may wish, sir. They 
are all comfortably settled now, and there ’s no 
need of your moving unless you should be dis- 
turbed by so many about. And we shall keep 
open sir, — you can remain as well as not.” 

“ If it does n’t matter I ’d as lief keep my 
room. And you are accustomed to a great 
many royalties in Mentone, I ’m told,” I added. 

“ Ah, yes, sir, we have our share in this 
house, every season. The Ex-Empress Eugenie 
is at Cap-Martin. The Count of Perigord has 
engaged the' Villa des Palmiers for a month, 
and he is entertaining now the Prince of Este.” 

I lit a cigarette : “ The Count of Perigord ? ” 

“ Good-night, sir,” said Madame with the 
cheeks of Shropshire. 

The moon lay across the sea. The moun- 
tains were darkly massed in the background. 
I lit another cigarette, grumbling a bit over the 
interruption to my quiet by this royal invasion. 
Some gentlemen of the suite coming in eyed 
me curiously. “ An anarchist ? ” I fancied 
them questioning. A fine tenor suddenly 
broke on the stillness. A little crowd was 


H 


The Countess Bettina . 


gathered below, serenading a personage, whose 
gentlemen stood on the balcony above applaud- 
ing the stringed instruments which followed. 
A breeze blew out of the distances of the sea. 
The gendarmes paced up and down the 
gravelled path as the department’s tribute to 
the Presence. “ What ’s in a King,” quoth I. 
“ The ability to woo the Countess Bettina,” I. 
added unthinkingly. Ah, what could I be to 
her or she to me ? As sentimentality became 
obtrusive an English boy, and a pretty fair- 
haired girl, his bride, strolled up, nodding to 
an acquaintance of the table d'hote. An old 
chap came toward me offering a cigar. He 
was exactly what I dreamed Major Pendennis 
might have been ; the same modulated voice, 
telling over nonchalantly the personages he 
knew. I had heard him astonishing two Eng- 
lish spinsters at the table d'hote. 

“ We have a King with us, sir, the descend- 
ant of Bernadotte. I ’ve met him.” 

“ Ah, yes.” 

“ And there ’s no more kingly gentleman in 
Europe, with his fine presence, his six feet.” 

“ So I ’m told.” 

" I must tell you, sir, at lunch were two 


On a Narrow Path . 


15 


strangers, I thought German tourists. I have 
been travelling in Italy, and you know how the 
Germans are everywhere there, in the most 
bothersome way. So, lest they should speak I 
looked ahead at the wall, or down at my plate, 
until one of these gentlemen asked for the but- 
ter, affably, in French. I answered some com- 
monplace, I believe, and found myself talking 
of Mentone and its advantages. * Pardon me, 
but English is easier for you,’ said my acquaint- 
ance, with hardly an accent, and he went on 
very intelligently until his companion and he 
left the table. ‘ A clever young man,’ I was 
saying. ‘ The crown prince of Sweden,’ said 
my neighbor ; you see that gentleman was a 
crown prince. I can’t get over thinking of his 
quiet manner.” 

“ In Paris,” said I, for something to say, “ he ’s 
a lover of the Bohemian, I ’m told.” 

“ A piece of luck,” went on the Major, “ to 
be here. We can sit on the veranda and see 
the personages.” 

“ Almost as pleasant as strolling down Pica- 
dilly with a lord on each arm,” said I, remem- 
bering a remark of the Major’s creator. 

“ Eh, I don’t quite understand. A lord on 


1 6 The Countess Bettina . 

each arm, did you say ? I ’ve often had them. 
But as I was saying we may see, by not stirring 
from our seats here, the Empress Eugenie.’’ 

“ His Highness of Monaco,” said I. 

“ The Prince of Este, and the Count of 
Perigord.” 

“ And the Countess Bettina,” said I, sotto 
voce. 

“ Eh,” said the Major. 

“ Good-night,” said I, leaving him. “Ah,” 
said I, looking from my window over the sea. 
“ Am I losing my sense ? ” People have said the 
Daltons of Sussex have a strain of madness. 
Possibly all who dare to act the least uncon- 
ventionally are accused of as much. But the 
Countess Bettina ; the girl at the gaming-table ; 
the innocence that dared because sure of itself. 
I slept badly ; I don’t believe I had done with 
the effect of the Turkish fever. Dorsey, bring- 
ing the shaving water, found me heavy-eyed ; 
and then I was gaining what I had lost by not 
sleeping in cantering a poor nag of Mentone 
along the mountain path. I like even a poor 
horse. He ’s more excuses for poorness than 
men. I ’ve known the hunters of England and 
of Kentucky, the donkey of China and Turkey, 


On a Narrow Path. 1 7 

and the poor hacks of many a land ; and a 
horse is a horse, worth every whit of King 
Richard’s kingdom. Wishing to get high, a 
path like that worn by sheep suggested a way. 
The sea sparkled brilliantly under the sun. 
The air blew sweetly delicious. What a jolly 
experience was dolce far niente. I almost could 
wish it to last forever, with never a care or an 
ambition. About a turn in the path came a 
rider, a woman, behind her a groom in dark 
green, and as luck, good or bad, would have it, 
this was the Countess Bettina. The path was 
narrow, the cliff above and below, a risky spot 
for a woman in the saddle. 

I touched my hat very properly, “ I beg your 
pardon, it ’s dangerous to pass here. I ’ll back 
my horse down to the wider space, if you ’ll 
permit me.” And I was backing him down, 
kicking and plunging, like a charger. A circum- 
stance such as this, — who would have imagined 
it, — suffered me to address the Countess 
Bettina. How queer is chance. Now it brings 
about the impossible, and again it keeps one 
forever in the humdrum. I started this 
chronicle with that observation. My horse 
backed, knowing as well as I that a misstep 


1 8 The Countess Bettino . 

meant a nasty fall. The Countess Bettina 
directed her pony down the slope, the big 
groom followed, staring with the most careful 
eyes. My horse reached the level spot. Fora 
moment I hesitated. I had her cornered, the 
little, great lady of Perigord, and I had a notion 
to make her speak. But this she did of her 
own free, sweet will. 

“ Thank you/’ in English. “ I am sorry to 
have troubled you, sir.” Her eyes met mine, 
deep blue as the sea, unflinching, a great lady 
born, a clear-eyed girl with a whimsicality. She 
was half Scotch, Lady Fanny had said. Her 
English proved it. She dropped her whip, a 
bit of woven silver with the crest of the Peri- 
gords. The groom watching, as if hesitating 
whether to chastise me for daring to address 
his mistress, did not note the loss, and I, seeing 
my further advantage, picked up the bauble. 

“ Pardon me, again, I beg you.” 

The groom turned about in the guttural 
patois of Perigord, “ Well, Monsieur.” I strode 
by him, leading my sorry nag to the Countess, 
who, looking over her shoulder, was blushing. 
I should have given it to the groom ; but, 
“ Your whip, Mademoiselle,” in French. 


On a Narrow Path. 19 

“ Ah, thank you again, sir,” answered she 
calmly in that same delightful English. “ I ’ve 
made you some trouble, I fear. But I know 
well, being partly a Scot girl myself, that I may 
pardon you returning the whip to me instead 
of to Baptiste.” 

“ I own my fault, Mademoiselle,” said I, 
surprised at her speaking. 

“ That ’s half the atonement, sir, I *m sure,” 
and a little disdainfully, I fancied, she whipped 
up her pony, and was gone down the slope, 
recklessly, the big groom after, intentionally, I 
believe, near sweeping me over the bank onto 
Mentone, and I was left staring at rocks, and 
sea, and the town, while my sorry nag munched 
something green between the stones. “ That 
reminds me, I believe I ’ll smoke,” said I to 
him, and throwing myself down, I lit a cigarette. 
Odd, was n’t it ? I had spoken to her ! and 
she to me! Few young girls would have dared 
who ’d been brought up among continental pre- 
judices and in a great position. The nag kept 
at his munching delighted. A shepherd boy 
went by whistling a merry air. I, a shepherd, 
and she a princess! That was just my provok- 
ing luck. The boy disappeared over the slope. 


20 


The Countess Bettina . 


But why charge luck with bad faith when it 
had done some smiling that morning. Only an 
unusual princess would have ridden over those 
rocks in the morning, would have played rouge- 
et-noir, would have twitted my bad manners. 
I mounted my nag and rode down into 
Mentone. 


CHAPTER III. 


How the Major was Suspicious of my Social Position, and how 
I was Forced to Reflect on the Uncertainty of Assignations. 

“ It ’s interesting to note the lives of great 
people,” the Major was saying. 

“You read the Court Journal , I suppose? 
And society notes ? ” said I. 

“Yes,” said the Major. “The Journal is 
right, but those journalists, being hopelessly 
out, of course make a mess.” 

“What could you expect?” quoth I. 
“ They ’re hopeless.” 

“ Yes, hopeless,” assented the Major. 

“ But I ’m an American.” 

“ An American,” said the Major, raising his 
eyebrows. “ You have n’t the accent.” 

“ My mother was a Fletcher of Shropshire.” 

“ Cousins of the Duke of Wight,” said the 
Major, more agreeably. 

“ That reminds,” said I, “ I was once in Flor- 
ence, hard up, at a pension , Jn the smoking- 


21 


22 


The Countess Bettina . 


room one night some Englishmen were talking 
of Americanisms.” 

“ Humph ! ” sniffed the Major. 

“ I tried to appear as un-American as pos- 
sible.” 

“ You had no difficulty, I ’m sure,” said the 
Major, condescendingly. 

When there spoke up a young fellow from 
Derbyshire, who ’d lived in California, and I 
never have heard better defence of the poten- 
tiality of the West. ‘ Then/ said I, 4 I am an 
American, forced by circumstances to throw off 
my citizenship.’ ” 

“ He was young,” said the Major. “ What 
circumstance, may I inquire ? I did not quite 
understand.” 

* 

“ A forgetting of common-sense for a friend 
in Hong Kong,” said I. 

“ Oh, yes,” said the Major. “ I thought you 
said in America. There are no class distinc- 
tions there, I ’m told.” 

“ Yes,” corrected I. “ Caste is there, and 
Indians.” 

“ So I ’m told,” said the Major. “ I suppose 
you ’re rich. They all are millionaires like the 
Perigords.” 


An Assignation. 


23 


“ The Countess Bettina,” said I. 

“ Eh ? ” said the Major. “ I ’m hard of 
hearing.” 

“ I was saying you must have known many 
Americans and personages in your time.” 

“Yes, several,” said the Major. “To-day, 
sitting here, I saw the Empress Eugenie de 
Montijo enter to call on the King. I saw her 
last in the Tuileries. Her hair has turned 
white, but her face still is youthful.” 

“ And were there others ? ” said I, plucking a 
rose. 

“Yes, the Prince of Este. He ’s a fine, 
young fellow, every inch of him. He ’s to 
marry in a month the Countess Bettina of 
Perigord.” 

“ The Countess Bettina,” said I to myself, 
pulling off the rose’s petals. 

“ But,” went on the Major, “ they say the 
Countess Bettina is headstrong and will not 
listen. She has the independence of the Mel- 
roses.” 

“ She ’ll have none of him,” quoth I. 

“ Gossip,” said the Major. “ What ’s your 
Club, sir, may I ask ? ” 

“ I wish I knew,” I muttered. 


24 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ Humph!” said the Major, “you ’ll excuse 
me.” 

“ I beg pardon, sir,” said Dorsey, appearing 
from somewhere. “ A note for you, sir.” 

“A note!” No one knew of my presence 
here. Lady Fanny thought me at Nice ; a lit- 
tle note, a scented note, a cramped, continental 
hand. 

“ Good day, sir,” said the Major, strolling 
away. 

“ Dorsey ! ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Where did you get this ? ” 

“ A peasant girl gave it me for you, sir, an 
half hour ago.” 

I eyed it curiously ; the hand, the violet scent. 
The address was mine, John Fletcher Dalton, 
Esqre. I tore it open. 

“ Sir,” it ran, “ you remember picking up a 
silver whip on a path among the hills. Would 
you help some one who needs help, and only 
can ask it of a stranger because he is English, 
and his face honest, and because it has been 
said he has done some daring things. Your 
name, your past is known to the writer. If you 
can lend your aid, your advice, will you be at 


„ An Assignation . 25 

nine in the olive orchard back from the Villa 
des Palmiers. It is unenclosed and you only 
have to climb the hill to the great tree in the 
centre of the field, and wait. If this be a dar- 
ing thing to ask, it is asked of a daring man, 
who does not hesitate, unless his reputation and 
his face belie him.” 

I lit a cigarette. I looked down at the sea, 
the town, the hot street climbing the hill, at 
Dorsey. 

“ Where is the messenger ? ” 

“ Gone.” 

“ Would you know her again ? ” 

“ I might, sir.” 

A fruit-monger mounted the steep street, in- 
coherently calling his wares, in the manner of 
his kind the world over. I lit another cigarette ; 
walked up and down. The Countess Bettina! 
No ! I thought of my experience with women. 
I was not conceited ; what sort of a trap was 
this? But in some way the idea became asso- 
ciated with the rouge-et-noir table that day at 
Monte Carlo, with the sheep path among the 
high hills. What ruse was this? But discre- 
tion never has led me far when my curiosity 
and the spirit of adventure prompted. The 


26 


The Countess Bettina . 


notion of the big tree in the olive orchard 
tickled that sleeping spirit. What mattered it 
to me what happened, ruse, or no ; I only had 
myself to consider, if my engagement with 
Lord Burton be excepted. And back of all 
this were Countess Bettina’s blue eyes. Never 
did man have stranger appointment. I only 
could explain by supposing a young girl’s 
errant fancy, not for myself, but to escape 
some dilemma, which would force her to 
despairing methods. The blue sea sparkled 
in that continuous afternoon sunshine, like her 
eyes. 

Whatever the vagary leading her to select 
me, a stranger, should I fail her? Of course it 
was the part of common-sense not to have gone. 
But I, and mine, always have sniffed at common- 
sense. Children’s voices reached me vaguely in 
the hot afternoon air. 

“ Dorsey.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Forget the note was ever given you, do you 
understand ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ I may go away to-night for a walking tour. 
Should they ask about me, tell them I have gone 


An Assignation . 2 7 

into the mountains, and will be back within a 
week .” 

“Yes, sir.” 

I could trust him as implicitly as my right 
hand. I was for him, conscience. 

I sauntered out into the hot street to the 
little house bordering the Promenade des An- 
glais, and here I sat until the sun dipped a 
molten ball into the sea. Never once had it 
been suggested that this might be all only a vul- 
gar liaison. I read the note again. But 
the memory of the Countess Bettina’s girlish 
face, and the sweet, fair prospect of the sea under 
the southern sunset, made this supposition not 
only absurd, but impossible. But — I paused as 
I walked up the hill — what if it were not the 
Countess Bettina at all? I looked back at the 
sea, at the fairness God was painting there. 
Let tradesmen, and politicians, and intriguers 
have their sensibleness, for me lay adventure 
and the possibility of the unknown, which beck- 
oned, as it must to the Spanish adventurers long 
ago sailing out into the sunset, to find the poet’s 
land of fable. 


CHAPTER IV. 


On Wilfulness , a Will, and a Way. 

By eight of an evening, in late May, Mentone 
is a quiet place, particularly if you venture into 
the side paths and ways, where you may pass a 
lagging pair, under the glimmering gas lamps, 
between the high walls of the villas. The Villa 
des Palmiers is removed from the town on the 
upper of the two roads (which join a mile 
farther) to Monaco. I strolled in its direction 
about half after eight, making certain that no 
one would question an Englishman’s right to 
walk as his fancy led. The continental peoples 
expect us to walk with mad energy, at which, I 
believe, they smile. A Frenchman walks for 
effect to show his knickerbockers, or his jacket, 
which he likely has from a Bond Street tailor ; 
a German, because he mixes poetry, or meta- 
physics with the art of stretching his muscles. 
To the English, their colonists, and the real 
Americans, not the lately naturalized ones, is 
28 


29 


A Will and a Way . 

left the prerogative of exercise for the joy of it. 
Of course there are individual differences. I 
have known Frenchmen and Russians who are 
ardent pedestrians, out of the sense of delight- 
ful physical exertion in the air, and the action 
of the muscles. 

That evening, as I say, the roads about Men- 
tone were strangely quiet, and I could be sure, 
whatever the outcome of my adventure, that 
nobody would trouble me, except, possibly, in 
the olive orchard in the slope back from the 
Villa des Palmiers. A quarter hour brought 
me to the high wall enclosing the villa, which 
showed, under the moon, with its yellow stucco, 
some twenty rods from the iron gate, now 
closed and barred, on the roadway. A man, 
probably the concierge , was peering through 
the bars as I passed, and I fancied he was ob- 
serving me. At any rate I took the precaution 
to walk beyond the path leading into the moun- 
tains to the westof the villa. My steps sounded 
on the hard roadway. Nobody passed. The 
high walls cast their deep shadows, and I was 
certain I could not be seen unless the man at 
the gate had followed. I could not be sure of 
this, it ’s true, or whether indeed he watched at 


30 


The Countess Bettina. 


all. But now the spirit of adventure had full 
possession, and I was resolved to see the matter 
out whatever might happen. Turning back 
and stepping carefully, I reached again the 
corner where the mountain-road divided, and, 
keeping well under the high wall of the villa, 
followed the path, the road every instant be- 
coming steeper. For the second time it occurred 
to me that the letter might prove a decoy. 
Anything could be expected of the desperate 
adventurers who frequent Monte Carlo. I 
easily might be knocked on the head, my pock- 
ets rifled, and my body thrown into the sea, 
where, if found, its presence only would be laid 
to one of those numerous suicides following 
bad luck at the Casino. The theory of the 
decoy was so simple an one that for an instant 
it appalled me, I confess. I should not be 
missed. I had told my servant I might not 
return under a week. The robbers, if this were 
a thievish ruse, had calculated their plan well. 
But, once having started on an enterprise, how- 
ever uncertain its outcome might appear in 
afterthought, it is not my way to turn back. I 
had no weapon, but I had recovered my strength 
now, and I was sure unless taken unaware to 


A Will and a Way . 3 1 

make a fight for it, and I had been in dangerous 
predicaments before. 

The enclosure of the villa ended, and I was 
walking now along an unfenced place where 
the moon, which had just risen from the sea, 
was sending bars of yellow light. Clumps of 
trees were scattered about this place, and I 
made sure, turning from the path, that it was 
my olive orchard. The ground was rough, and 
I stumbled several times in looking for the 
single great tree which was to be the point of 
the tryst. At last, I selected it, and paused, 
peering into the shadows whence would come 
the explanation of the adventure. But no ex- 
planation was there, only the chirping of the 
cicadillas. Voices, the sound of a guitar were 
borne up from below. I seated myself well in 
the shadow of the tree, making certain I could 
not be seen, only to rise again, remembering 
the theory of the decoy. I stood alert for some 
minutes, but nothing stirred. Scanning my 
watch-face in the moonshine, which now was 
brighter, I saw it was five minutes past nine. 
Humph, I thought, this is some trick of an 
acquaintance who knows my nature, and wishes 
to get the laugh on me. Well, he or she has 


3 2 


The Countess Bettina . 


it, if they be somewhere back in the shadows 
under the wall of the villa enclosure watching 
my predicament. I laughed at myself, and 
then suddenly was a touch on my shoulder. 

“ M’sieur.” 

A figure thickly muffled in one of the cloaks 
the peasant women of that department wear 
was behind me. I could see her black eyes 
sparkle, for I made sure it was a woman or a girl 
of the peasant class, as her patois showed. 

“ You ’re M’sieur Dalton ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, in answer to the note.” 

“ I gave it your servant. Follow me.” 

She turned, as if expecting obedience, toward 
the wall of the villa. I understood then I had 
been told to wait in the middle of the orchard 
because the person watching from the shadow 
of the villa wall could observe my approach 
and presence without in the least risking being 
seen. The theory of the decoy then occurred 
again. I thought of the groom on the cliff 
path who had eyed me so malevolently. I 
stopped before venturing into the shadow of 
the wall and the bushes fringing it. 

“Well, M’sieur?” said my guide, looking 
back. 


33 


A Will and a Way . 

“ Where do you take me ? ” 

“ Follow ! ” 

“ Well, tell me, who wishes to see me? ” 

She turned, and walked back, peering into 
my face. Suddenly something bright glinted 
in the moonshine, just before my eyes. I 
started, clinching my hand, but the girl — for 
she was a girl — avoided me with a quick jump 
aside. 

“ M’sieur, if you dare harm her ! Dare be- 
tray her trust,” said the girl, passionately. 
“ Come, you must follow.” 

“ And who may she be ? ” 

“ Come,” she said imperiously, leading again, 
and because my curiosity now was piqued, or 
because her will, which was her mistress', dom- 
inated, I followed. Leading straight into the 
shadow of the wall, she took from under her 
cloak a key, which she inserted in the lock of a 
little door. The key turned as if the lock were 
rusted. The maid pulled back the gate. In- 
side was another figure, that stepped out, closed 
the gate, and faced me. I saw she was trem- 
bling at her own daring, and the tremulous 
voice was that of the Countess Bettina, which 
I had heard on the cliff path. 


34 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ I have trusted you, Monsieur, a stranger.” 

“ A dangerous trust, Mademoiselle, but I 
shall try to deserve it.” 

“ I have heard of you, Monsieur, from your 
friend, Lieutenant da Vinne of the English 
Embassy.” 

Her tone, taking courage, no longer trem- 
bled. This was a girlish voice ; a girlish freak, 
I understood, and the tone, and the face, I 
remembered, made any other supposition, im- 
possible ; nor at least, whatever my faults, am 
I a conceited fool. I knew that some need of 
aid had led her to appeal to me, a stranger. Or 
it might be a girlish fancy of the presence of 
such a need. I knew she was calling on me, 
not as an equal, but as a princess on one who 
might prove, she thought, the good servant. 
Something in her attitude, in her voice, made 
me believe this that instant. The other notions 
went their ways into the distorted crevices of 
the brain never to return. 

“ Lieutenant da Vinne, Mademoiselle, ever 
was my good friend.” 

“ He told me, Monsieur, how you held per- 
sonal profit of small account in fidelity to a' 
friend, and how once you sacrificed your good 


A Will and a Way. 35 

name and an honorable record for one ’s 
necessity.” 

“ Mademoiselle, believe me, Lieutenant da 
Vinne was prejudiced.” 

“ I have that to find out, Monsieur. I hardly 
know you. My desperation has led me to risk 
that friend’s prejudice being true. The other 
day in the Casino, noting your face, I asked 
who you might be. A gentlemen with me, who 
had seen you in Constantinople, told me you 
were an English diplomatic agent, a Mr. Dal- 
ton. I knew you at once as Monsieur da 
Vinne’s friend.” 

“ Thank you, Mademoiselle.” 

“You need not thank me, Monsieur. I ’m 
leading you into trouble if you may be per- 
suaded. If you may not be, I only have your 
honor to trust not to mention this affair, to 
forget a young girl’s rashness, which was out 
of her desperation. Annette ! ’ 

“ Mademoiselle.” 

“ Watch inside the gate.” 

“Your door is locked ; Mademoiselle, they ’ll 
not suspect.” 

“ Who knows but Baptiste might come this 

? >> 


36 The Countess Bettina . 

“ Who knows but he shall not,” said the maid, 
entering the grounds. 

“ Monsieur,” went on the mistress, “ we 
have no time for explanations. Yet I must 
make some. The morning on the cliff I 
dropped the whip purposely to hear your 
voice, to see if you could be trusted ; for I had 
resolved to leave this place before the matter 
bothering me should go further.” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle.” 

“ That you were what Monsieur da Vinne 
had described you, I was sure. I wrote you 
that note. You have obeyed me. We, Peri- 
gords, Monsieur, never turn from an under- 
taking. I leave this place to-night, with or 
without you. It will be a more hazardous mat- 
ter without you, or else I should not have 
called on you, a stranger. But you see how 
desperate my plight when grasping at this 
straw.” 

“ Mademoiselle, what service do you wish of 
me?” 

“ There is no one about this place but that 
would thwart me. I only can trust Annette 
because my will is her’s. I wish. Monsieur, 
you to do something you alone of us three can 


37 


A Will and a Way. 

without exciting comment: to go into the 
town, to get me there a barouche, bribing the 
driver to keep his mouth shut — indeed, not 
suffering him out of your presence — until you 
have brought him by the road leading above 
the villa to the north-eastern corner of the 
orchard, where I with Annette, shall await you.” 

“And then, Mademoiselle?” 

“ We shall drive to Nice in time to get the 
three o’clock train for Paris.” 

This little daring princess then was making 
me the agent for an elopement. What a scan- 
dal would there be ? And who was she seek- 
ing? or what was she running from? And 
where did I come in in the plan ? It signified 
a gaol at least for me for abducting a young 
girl, who was a princess. And how cunningly 
she had contrived it all ; with what excellent 
sense, although it certainly was senseless in 
her to risk her good name so rashly. What 
could be better than the plan, indeed? She 
had calculated orl the adventurous, romantic 
nature Da Vinne had given me. I admired 
the daring with which she had risked me an- 
swering Da Vinne’s description. I myself 
might have taken the same risk. But in a 


38 


The Countess Bettina. 


young girl, that sort of risk was dangerous, in- 
deed ; and she a princess. It savored of one 
born to command in the Old World way, who 
cared not for appearances because she held her- 
self above mere scandal. Ah, but was she ? I 
bit my lips, and again I admired the cleverness 
of the other details. I had been brought in 
because she could not get away from Mentone 
without being observed. 

Well muffled, she easily could take the train 
at Nice without suspicion. But the trouble to 
get the means of reaching Nice, as she had said 
she only could trust her maid in the villa. The 
risk of admitting some out-sider into the plan 
was absolutly necessary, and, with girlish rash- 
ness, because she would carry out her plan, she 
had risked me being the man Da Vinne had 
described. 

“Well, Monsieur, you have heard all?” she 
questioned at last, as a princess might, when a 
subject hesitated at a command. And yet with 
the tone, with a sense of her will and wilful- 
ness, I saw all at once the absurd risk she was 
taking, whatever might be the dilemma she was 
trying to escape. I remembered what my 
father would have done if he had been put in 


A Will and a Way. 


39 


this position, and perhaps I thought a little of 
the grave risk I incurred by standing there, 
with the danger of discovery imminent every 
second. I understood, too, from what the maid 
let drop, that she was supposed by the people 
in the villa to be in her room, and that if the 
plan could be carried out without interruption, 
the discovery of the Countess Bettina’s disap- 
pearance would not be made before dtjeAner, 
say eleven or twelve, the next morning, par- 
ticularly, as was likely, if she had pleaded in- 
disposition. 

“You do not answer, Monsieur,” she de- 
manded again, with a certain imperiousness. 

“ I have been considering the situation, 
Mademoiselle, and I cannot do as you wish.” 

“ Monsieur Da Vinne was wrong, then ; out 
of cowardice ! ” she exclaimed petulantly. 

“Out of consideration, Mademoiselle, whether 
you believe me or not, for your name — one of 
the first in Europe.” 

She laughed scornfully. 

“ So I ’m told, Monsieur. But I shall go 
whether you help me or not. You will not 
dare thwart me. You are too much a gentle- 
man to let them know. But you may be 


40 


The Countess Bettina . 


tempted by the prospect of the reward you 
may receive for discovering Mademoiselle de 
Perigord’s indiscretion. I was a fool, Mon- 
sieur, — the silliest chit of a lackadaisical girl 
ever to have risked you — a fool — a fool- — — -” 

She was sobbing, I thought, and stamping 
her foot like a petulant child. 

“Mademoiselle/’ said I, “you have told me 
much. What is the unpleasantness you would 
avoid ? ” 

“ My marriage, Monsieur.” 

“With the Prince of Este?” 

“ With the Prince of Este.” 

“In your station that matter is arranged?” 

“The merest peasant may follow a fancy, 
but we are sold, because we are rich, that our 
children may be more powerful.” 

“ I know, Mademoiselle, I know how that is, 
and yet they say those affairs are sometimes 
the happier.” 

“Not with me, Monsieur; I am not to be 
trundled about. I at least have shown you so 
much by this indiscretion of mine.” 

“And it may be, Mademoiselle fancies an- 
other?” 


A Will and a Way . 4 1 

“ If he were here I should not have had re- 
course to you, believe me, Monsieur.” 

“ I have not flattered myself so much. But 
— your confidence in me has led me to ask more 
before I decide.” 

“ Before you decide,” she interrupted. 

“ Yes, before I decide, Mademoiselle, I must 
know more, for your sake — before I decide.” 

“ Monsieur,” she said, “ you are right, and I 
will explain, what only he knows. They have 
arranged this marriage with the Prince of Este, 
whether I will, or no. This week at Mentone 
ends in two days. I shall be taken to Peri- 
gord. I shall have no chance to thwart them. 
He who alone could help me is unaware of this 
haste of my relatives. Believe me, he would 
throw up all if he knew. He is out of reach 
for the present.” 

“And why?” 

“ He is with his ship at the Asiatic station.” 

“ His ship?” 

“ He is, Monsieur, my third cousin. His 
grandmother was a Melrose. He is a foreigner, 
but a captain in the German navy.” 

Running over the names I knew, all at once 


The Countess Bettina. 


42 

it occurred to me, “ Monseigneur, Philip La- 
zere.” 

“ He, Monsieur.” 

“ But your good name, Mademoiselle. How 
can we do this ? ” 

“ My good name,” she cried passionately. 
“ I care not that for it in comparison with him. 
Is he not as great as his cousin, the Prince of 
Este, although poor. I will tell you, Monsieur, 
I will do this with you, or without you. I ’m 
not to be thwarted. I will take the train-de- 
luxe from Nice at three to-morrow morning. I 
will go to Paris.” 

“ And where, Mademoiselle, can you hide 
there?” 

“ Easier it is, Monsieur, in a great city than 
in the country, where tongues babble like the 
brooks.” 

“ And there ? What ’s accomplished ? ” 

“ The scandal of it, Monsieur Dalton ! Let 
it come or go. Is not the Lazere name as good 
as that of Este? Will he not come to me when 
he knows ? They will search. They will talk. 
It may not even be noised. Such occurrences 
are quieted.” 


A Will and a Way. 43 

“Yes, Mademoiselle, in your class, I grant 
it.” 

“ That is all, Monsieur,” she said calmly. 
“ With or without you I go to Nice to-night.” 

I walked up and down. The undertaking 
looked differently all at once. The Countess 
Bettina’s daring seemed to cry out on me 
should I desert her. If she failed, this very 
undertaking probably would break the marriage 
with Este, and assist her with Lazere. I saw 
the matter was resolved into a personal one. 
Would I or would I not risk it ? For me, if 
there were a failure, was the wrath of the Peri- 
gords and of the Estes ; and for her no great 
loss if she so disliked Este ; with, as I have said, 
the prospect of positive gain ; scandal, as she 
said, would be quieted in her class ; and I — 
what cared I? I was alone. No one would be 
hurt by the risk, save myself. I had lost my 
good name already. What had I more ? And 
the adventure beckoned ; its hazard and the 
Countess Bettina’s daring and helplessness ap- 
pealed. A girl’s whim, eh ! What cared I ? 
She wished it so. 

“ Mademoiselle, the carriage for Nice will be 


44 


The Countess Bettina. 


on the road at the corner of the orchard in a 
half hour.” 

“ Thank you, Monsieur,” she said, with a lit- 
tle cry of delight, from the shadow of the gate. 
But I had turned down the slope to Mentone. 
The hazard was great, and the drive to Nice a 
long one. 

Dragged as I had been so suddenly into the 
affairs of Captain, His Highness the Duke of 
Vancluse, his name and fame were not un- 
known to me, and indeed had done not a little 
in influencing my decision. In the approaching 
communism of which even rational men dream, 
seeing the rising of the people, and the ineffi- 
ciency and lack of distinction of those born to 
high position, a personality such as that of the 
present Philip Lazere may be missed. How 
wretched indeed would be that impossible 
dream, a society without distinctions. A good 
sailor he was conceded by the English naval 
officers to be, as well, a charming gentleman. 
At this time not over twenty-seven, he, although 
a foreigner, had obtained his ship in the Ger- 
man Emperor’s navy by the most persistent 
work, and by showing a remarkable skill in his 
profession, rather than from any favoritism se- 


A Will and a Way. 


45 


cured him by his relationship with the Hohen- 
zollerns ; and it was his name, as well as her 
own girlish insistence, which had gained me at 
last, more than anything else, to this doubtful 
enterprise. I was certain he was a sensible fel- 
low ; that he would not desert the little Count- 
ess Bettina, and that, in the event of the 
failure of the undertaking, I should have his 
strong hand to abet me. I had clean forgot by 
this time any responsibility I may have had to 
the British Foreign Office. So uncertain is a 
man of sudden impulse. He would be the last 
person I should employ. Yet, not for the 
world, would I myself be different, and here 
was I embarked on an enterprise that had come 
out of a girl’s fancies. I may have had some 
misgivings as I walked down that slope, yet, 
not for the world, having given my word, and 
now led by a fancy for the adventure, would I 
now have given it up. 


CHAPTER V. 


On the Advantages and Disadvantages of Pour-Boires. 

When one writes he must find excuse, be- 
cause so many there are who write well and 
often, and I hide myself behind the Sieur de 
Montaigne, and quote his word before the nar- 
native of this experience which more than his 
own is of a “ wilde, extravagant designe, more- 
over there is nothing in it worthy the marking 
but this fantasticalnesse.” For it ever must be 
that men shall hold fantastical that they have 
not experienced. My career, my chance if you 
will, has led me into some adventures which are 
out of the common, and, consequently, those 
who only have led humdrum lives, and never 
have dreamed the possibilities in this amusing 
life, nor that the unusual mixes with the usual, 
may put me down at once an arrant pretender. 
Has not God made the skies blue, and gay with 
morning and evening colors, as well as dark and 
heavy with fog and cloud ? And indeed I fur- 
ther have to explain those matters that hap- 
46 


On Pour-Boires 


47 


pened in the spring and summer of 1892. The 
event of my being in the Casino at Monte 
Carlo that day, led directly to occurrences in- 
volving many persons. In fact if I had known 
all that was to follow on my acquiescence in the 
Countess Bettina’s flight, I might have hesi- 
tated even then, at ten that evening, when I 
was seeking a desirable driver along the Prome- 
nade des Anglais in Mentone. 

The desirable qualities sought were, first, such 
discretion as was purchasable ; a removal of the 
chance of gossip on the road ; and, thirdly, de- 
cent horses. Nor is it so easy a matter to find 
these in the streets of Mentone at ten in the 
evening of late May. At that hour the place 
is stilled, gayety has gone with the season. 
Obviously I did not wish to return to my hotel, 
for Dorsey already might have made the ex- 
planation which might lead to queries about 
any second disappearance. I wondered if the 
Countess Bettina had pocket money, but I 
judged the twenty Louis I found in my pocket 
would be sufficient with what she might be able 
to muster. I had not the faintest notion how 
much a great heiress who probably had every- 
thing bought for her might have about her. 


48 


The Countess Bettina . 


But I decided between us would be sufficient. 
In Paris I easily could get means by drawing 
on London, although there I should be forced 
to be secretive, not knowing how I might be 
watched. Nor could I now go after any of my 
luggage. Plainly I must leave the boxes and 
Dorsey to that excellent fellow’s wit. Doubt- 
less after three or four days he might become 
disturbed, and raise a hue and cry. And then the 
fact of my disappearance the same night might 
be coupled with the Countess Bettina’s. You 
see I ran over all these possibilities as if the dan- 
gerous expedition were already accomplished, 
when really it had not begun. At Nice, should 
we get that far, would be the danger of the 
Countess being recognized. Nor did I disregard 
the fact that no mean part of the plan was get- 
ting away unobserved from the Villa des Pal- 
miers. As far as I had gone I yet had found 
not even one vehicle. I thought the street 
being now nearly deserted I should have to 
have recourse to a stable, when the familiar 
cracking of a whip showed me the return of 
some belated cocker , who had no fare. Calling 
to him, he drew up a poor winded brute to the 
curbing, not very anxiously, I thought. 


On Pour-Boires . 49 

“ Monsieur,” he said, suddenly brightening, — 
he had been half asleep either with weariness 
or wine, — when I saw he was the fellow I had 
had on my drive that first day. 

“ Your horse is winded ? ” 

“ Ah, Monsieur,” began my man, loqua- 
ciously, “ I ’ve been driving a couple to Monte 
Carlo and back. They nearly killed me and 
the poor beast with only half a pour-boirey 

“ Ah, yes, I was thinking of going there.” 

“ But there *s the train,” quoth he, imperti- 
nently, out of a disinclination to increase his 
weariness. 

“ ’T is my humor to drive.” 

“ The English, it ’s true, have many strange 
humors,” remarked my philosopher. 

As philosophically I lit a cigarette, taking 
from my pocket a ten-franc piece. “ And gold 
sometimes.” 

“ What does Monsieur wish, — to go to Monte 
Carlo ? ” he asked, losing the stupidity of weari- 
ness or of wine. 

“To go to Monte Carlo, and back to-night.” 

“ But my horse is too jaded.” 

“ There are others in Mentone.” 

“ True.” 

4 


50 


The Countess Bettinci. 


I took three louis from my pocket, gauging 
exactly his venality, it being more dangerous 
to give such cattle too much than nothing at all. 

“ This for you to find horses and a barouche.” 

“ Thanks, Monsieur.” 

“ And this for you to have neither eyes, nor 
ears, but to report to me in half an hour a 
quarter mile from here on the Monaco road.” 

“ How many louis are to be had, Monsieur ? ” 

I saw I had bungled. 

“ As many as the service deserves, no less ; 
you have seen I ’m liberal.” 

“Yes, very, Monsieur. But you say tell no 
one. How shall I explain ? ” he added, cunning 
now having quite taken stupidity’s place. The 
glitter of louis fascinates those Latins. I saw 
again my false move. 

“ Don’t explain, fellow. Simply say at your 
stable an Englishman wishes two - good horses 
because it suits his fancy this fine night to drive 
rather than to go by train. If you don’t wish 
the fare, return the gold,” which clinched the 
matter. 

“ I will bring the barouche in twenty minutes, 
Monsieur.” 

“ I will remain here, instead of walking 


On Pour-Boires . 


5i 


farther,” said I. I had not wished so con- 
spicuous a position, but now, after that stupid 
altercation, I thought it better, and, lighting a 
cigarette took a seat along the promenade, 
while waiting my fellow’s return. Surely I was 
nervous, I reflected. I had started by bungling 
so simple a matter as the cab. The man might 
fail. But I had not counted on the temptation 
of the louis, the probability of more. He saw 
here was a fare who would not discuss a pour - 
boire and returned within the twenty minutes 
with two horses that at least looked less fagged 
than the one he had had, although I doubted 
their power of covering the distance to Nice in 
the specified time. 

As I jumped in he touched his hat very 
respectfully, driving along to Monaco. 

“ The upper drive,” I said at the turning. 

“ It makes the distance longer.” 

“ My humor, man, the upper drive.” 

“True,” he assented grumblingly, but turn- 
ing into the upper road. As we neared the 
road, on the Mentone side, leading around the 
Villa des Palmiers, above the olive orchard, I 
hailed him again to take the first turn. 

“ But, Monsieur ? ” 


52 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ It ’s another louis for you.” 

“ A friend of Monsieur’s, I see. Two louis 
more, did you say?” 

“ A louis.” 

“ Ah, it ’s two louis to me, Monsieur,” he said, 
stopping his horses stock still. 

“ I said two louis, man,” said I, although I 
could have thrown him from his seat. At this 
he turned reluctantly up the hill road, grum- 
bling over the peculiarities of Englishmen. 

“ But I can sympathize with Monsieur,” he 
added, “ if it is an adventure of love. I ’ve had 
mine. Monsieur knows the place?” 

When I did not answer, he added, “ We ’re 
behind the Villa des Palmiers.” 

“Yes, I understand. Drive on.” 

I understood only too well, wondering what 
might have happened there in my absence, and 
whether the Countess Bettina might not have 
been intercepted. I doubted not that she 
would be waiting expectantly at the appointed 
corner, and there I was relieved to see two 
figures crossing the open spaces between the 
trees. Calling the man to stop, I jumped down, 
but waited lest he should turn tail. I believe 
indeed he would have whipped up and left me, 


On Pour-Boires. 


53 


if it had not been for this caution. The two 
figures in the orchard hesitated as if trying to 
make sure, and then came on, evidently 
satisfied. 

“ We thought you never were coming, Mon- 
sieur,” said the Countess, jumping lightly into 
the barouche, the maid following with a port- 
manteau. 

“ Now drive on to Monte Carlo.” 

The ease with which I had been wheedled, 
and the air of this nocturnal adventure, evi- 
dently led my man to suppose more was to be 
gained, for he turned with the old question of 
“ How many louis ? ” I saw in one instant I 
must have him out of the way, or else I should 
not have left a sou with which to conduct my 
party. Yet, I did not wish to have a row at 
that dangerous spot, when we should be in all 
haste to cover our road ; so I told him again he 
should not want for liberal pay, but to drive on 
now, as fast as he might. 

“ On, fellow ! ” said the Countess Bettina, im- 
patiently. 

. “Not until I see the color of gold,” he 
answered. 

I have reached the limit of my temper often 


54 


The Countess Bettina . 


when soft, discreet words were the better way, 
and now, with one sudden blow, taking him 
unaware, I swept him off into the road. The 
horses started up, but I pulled them back, care- 
ful now lest he should make outcry. The 
Countess Bettina reached to the reins. 

“ He ’ll alarm the house,” said she reproach- 
fully. 

Cursing myself I jumped down to where my 
man lay, expecting he might whip out a knife. 
But instead, to my surprise, he got up and said 
very coolly, “ Pardon, Monsieur, I will drive as 
you wish.” I had arrived at exactly the proper 
treatment. Remounting the box he bent for- 
ward to his work, showing his spite by lashing 
the melodramatic whip about the poor beasts’ 
flanks. Madly we tore down the slope to the 
upper of the two main roads. The maid gave 
a little scream, but Mademoiselle’s voice cor- 
rected her with a reproachful “ Annette.” 

“ You ’ll tip us out ! ” said I at last to our 
Jehu. 

“Yes, Monsieur,” he said, turning the corner 
recklessly. “ Monsieur wishes haste to Mon- 
aco.” 

“ Careful, you fool ! ” said I, divining he 


On Pour-Boires . 


55 


might have some trick in store. The poor 
horses were galloping, and would have been 
spent before we had made half the distance to 
Monaco, to say nothing of Nice ; and seizing 
the reins from his hands, I pulled them up. 
Luckily we apparently had not yet attracted 
attention. I expected again he might whip out 
a knife. 

“ Get down ! ” said I. 

“ Monsieur ! ” 

“ Get down, before I throw you down.” 

“ Be careful, Monsieur, I can shout, and 
there ’ll be a gendarme. I know where we 
are.” 

Had it not been for my charge, I should 
have throttled him then and there. But, hold- 
ing the reins in my left hand, and clutching hi& 
shoulder with the other, “ Well, what do you 
want ? ” 

“ It ’s the part of sense, Monsieur, not to lose 
your temper. Peste, you near broke my back 
by that blow into the road. You are strong, 
Monsieur.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake drive on,” came the 
Countess’ voice. 

“ Not until we have made our bargain, Ma- 


56 


The Countess Bettina. 


demoiselle,” said the fellow, impertinently. 
“ This is a rare adventure.” 

“ Give him what he wishes, Monsieur. We 
can’t parley here, not a half mile from the villa. 
They may have heard. Who knows who may 

•s yy 

pass ? 

I considered for a moment the danger of the 
position. Should I leave him there would be 
outcry at once, and certainly we should be in- 
tercepted before we could reach Monte Carlo. 
I should be arrested for horse stealing, as well 
as for abduction, and the whole matter would 
end ridiculously. Mademoiselle was right. I 
must purchase him. I saw he was a fellow of a 
good head, and it occurred to me that once 
bought he might serve us well. I say he had 
discretion in gaining his object, for he had not 
forgotten he was extorting money. He had 
not out of petty revenge stabbed me, or made 
outcry. He had endured my blow, because he 
proposed to be the robber, and because he saw 
from the whole appearance of the affair, more 
was to be made out of me directly than by de- 
livering me to the authorities. I saw how much 
cleverer Mademoiselle, the little Countess, was 
than I. He had us cornered, and must be pro- 


On Poitr-Boires. 


57 


pitiated at any cost. I hoped the Countess 
Bettina had money, but the train at Nice was 
some hours away, and the matter now in hand 
was getting on our way. 

“ Well, what are your terms?” 

“ Monsieur is talking sensibly. Five louis 
now ; five at Monte Carlo.” 

“ Are you sure that will satisfy you. I ’d 
rather give up this whole matter than be 
robbed. Besides I can kill you, my man.” 

“ No, but Monsieur will not. Come, I ’ll 
tell you, five louis now, and I promise to act as 
Monsieur directs, and five louis at the end of 
the drive.” 

“ How do I know that can satisfy you.” 

“ My word.” 

“ I have had that before.” 

“ True, but now I shall be satisfied.” 

“ Drive on, Monsieur,” said the Countess Bet- 
tina again. 

“ Pardon, Mademoiselle, this bargain is neces- 
sary.” I wondered if the man had recognized 
her. Probably. I counted out five louis, reach- 
ing him the reins. 

“ Thanks, Monsieur,” he said as respectfully 
as if nothing had happened. I heard the 


58 


The Countess Bettina. 


Countess Bettina’s sigh of relief as the pair set- 
tled down to a trot. The road stretched before 
in the moonshine. A carriage passed ; some 
horsemen. The Countess said not a word. 
The lights were out in most of the houses. 
Under the slope a train rumbled and again 
came a long bugle call. 

“ The Coast-guard/' said our cocker without 
looking up, which suggested a move. 

“ Look well, my man, if we are caught this 
affair will prove as badly for you as for me." 

“ Possibly, Monsieur." 

“ Because you ’ll be found with us." 

“ True," he assented. 

“And it ’ll be the worse with you." 

“ Eh, Monsieur ? " 

“ Because you ’re poor." 

“ Monsieur is right, only God helps the poor 
and He not always." 

“With me it’s different. I know those in 
powerful places." 

“Yes, granted, Monsieur; but this is a grave 
matter. She ’s a princess." I saw at once he 
knew. 

“ But you too are involved." 

I felt he was trembling, and knew that he 


On Pour-Boires. 


59 


had two qualities, venality and cowardice ; a 
third, a strange trait in such a nature, I was to 
find later. 

“ You, my man, will go certainly to prison. 
For you is no hope. Should you deliver me up, 
who would believe you, against my word. I 
tell you I have friends who are powerful, man. 
It remains for you to stay with us, pay or no 
pay.” 

“ But Monsieur has been inclined to be 
liberal.” 

“ And still is so inclined, if you act properly.” 

We now having reached the turn to Bordi- 
ghiera I told him to take that way, preferring 
to skirt Monte Carlo rather than to enter it. 

“ Monsieur?” he questioned. 

“ We ’ll go to Nice.” 

“ But I thought it was ” 

“ You have heard me say. Do you prefer 
prison or my service ? ” 

“ Monsieur says I ’m committed. True.” 
And he turned as I directed, without request 
for another gold-piece. 

And then Countess Bettina said to the rascal : 
“ Ah, my man, I thank you. You shall be 
rewarded.” 


6o 


The Countess Bettino. 


“Yes, my lady,” he said humbly, touching 
his hat again ; and I thought we should have no 
more trouble from him. And yet on the far- 
ther side of Monaco we had an adventure when 
I trembled for his discretion. Out of the still- 
ness before in the road, we had heard cantering, 
and then out of the shadows into the moon- 
shine came three horsemen. The leader, rein- 
ing his horse, bade us “ halt.” I was fearful 
what my man would say, but influenced by 
my words or by the suddenly aroused sense 
of obedience to a superior, I know not, he sat 
at his reins without a word. The Sergeant of 
the guard peered into our faces, and into those 
of the rear seat, of which on account of the 
wraps he could make nothing, I think. 

“ Humph, Monsieur! I must arrest you, I be- 
lieve.” 

“ And why would Monsieur the sergeant in- 
terrupt a little party of pleasure ? ” 

Doubtless I struck a sympathetic chord, for 
he touched his hat, crying, as he cantered on : 

“ Bon voyage , Monsieur, and pardon.” With- 
out a word my rascal whipped up his tired 
horses. 

“ A narrow escape for you,” said I. 


On Pour-Boires. 6 1 

“ For us all,” he assented, acknowledging my 
logic, and I saw I had gained him. The cool 
breeze, fraught with odors of the sleeping earth, 
swept over the rose-bearing land. 

The moon hung high. Scattered outlines of 
mountains or of towers were against the sky. 
Sometimes we passed a lumbering cart, whose 
driver would glance curiously at this midnight 
party ; or it might be some strange, stumbling 
figure, perhaps homeless, to which the Countess 
Bettina would cast a coin. 

“ A gift out of the night,” quoth I. 

“ May I bless some one. Ah, Monsieur, I ’m 
selfish ! I understand now how great your risk 
in this affair.” 

“ Humph ! I care not, Mademoiselle.” 

She leaned forward, touching my arm, while 
her voice came in that prettily accented Eng- 
lish : “ My heart has been in my boots, sir, as 
you say.” 

“ As we say, you he Scot, Mademoiselle.” 

“Yes, a Scot girl, I ’m proud to say, and 
cousin to the bravest sailor, who is a Scot in the 
same way.” 

“ Philip Lazere.” 

“ And he will reward you.” 


62 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ Have I asked reward ? ” 

“ Pardon me, sir. I believe I ’m the least 
daft. I never have had so exciting an ad- 
venture. And should you wonder if I say 
things I do not mean at all ? I know well you 
are seeking none, but it sickens me to think 
I ’m involving you in trouble.” 

“ Mademoiselle de Perigord, I ’ve been in 
some trouble near all my life. But I ’m 
bothered to think how we ’re to bring this 
to a conclusion, which we must ; perplexed 
about your selection of Paris, should we be 
able to take the train at Nice uninterrupted.” 

“ If they have not discovered my absence 
yet,” said the Countess Bettina, “ they ’ll not 
before eleven in the morning, I ’m sure. Then 
it ’ll take them some time to find the direction 
we ’ve taken. When they ’ve found it we shall 
be in Paris.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And I choose Paris because, as I Ve said, 
there it ’ll be easier to cover our tracks. They 
easily might find us should we have gone in 
another direction. Not a spot on the Riviera, 
or in Italy, or in Switzerland, could hold us 
safe.” 


On Pour-Boires . 63 

“ But do you know where you shall go in 
Paris ? ” 

“ I must leave that to you, Mr. Dalton/ 

And I laughed, not merrily. For the whole 
foolish side of the undertaking came over me. 
At that hour of the morning one’s courage is 
lowest, I think. And here we were driving 
among dangers for the Countess Bettina’s whim, 
in which her superior will had entangled me. 
But, however foolish it all might be, I now was 
committed to the affair, although I saw how 
small a chance was there of bringing it to any 
outcome. 

“ You are laughing ? ” 

“Ah, yes, Mademoiselle,” said I, using the 
French term, as it conveys more, or less, than 
any English equivalent, although I was in my 
own tongue. “ I was laughing out of utter 
embarrassment.” 

/‘You do not know where to take me?” 

“ Not in the least.” 

“Yet you are a man of resource? ” 

“ You remember you said you would do this 
alone.” 

“ You mean, by saying that, I forced your 
aid?” 


6 4 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ Exactly. And I ’m thinking how poor 
that aid may prove.” 

“ We have solved our problem up to this 
point. Let us get to Paris, and I ’m sure 
you ’ll find a way.” 

“ Yes, for we must.” 

That “ must ” ever has led to achievement ; 
under its impetus has defeat been again and 
again turned to victory, and a little name raised 
to fame. Now it left me pondering, while we 
covered the long road to Nice, now speaking in 
English of our problem, and becoming every 
moment the better acquaintances. I admired 
her daring, while I was amazed how this girlish 
whim had entangled me in so many perplexi- 
ties. Yet again, while I wondered, I confess I 
felt the more her attractiveness and the charm 
of the princess and the girl, which had made 
me lose my sense. The maid slept ; but for 
us only was watchfulness, although I tried to 
have her close her eyes. I was fearful what 
the reaction might be from this whimsical ad- 
venture. But she could not sleep, when every 
passer might challenge, when any gendarme 
might arrest. And it was with added appre- 
hension that we saw at last about a turn the 


On Poar-Boires . 


65 


lights of Nice, and drew along the long road, 
now lined with villas, for the most dark. But 
at one, I remember, some ball was breaking 
up. Carriages lined the road, waiting their 
turn up the drive to the house. The laughter 
of revellers caught us. “ I wonder how a dance 
would seem?” said the Countess Bettina in- 
consequently. 

“ Mademoiselle, I left your dancing slippers,” 
said Annette, waking. At this our lady laughed 
merrily. 

“ To dance is to forget. We can’t forget 
until we ’re in Paris.” 

“ If then,” thought I. 

Drawing toward the station, understanding 
our destination without question — he was a 
wondrous clever fellow, as I was to know — our 
cabby, who ’d not said a word since Bordi- 
ghiera, suddenly drew up. 

“ The horses are almost dead. I shall lose 
my place if I return to Mentone, to say nothing 
of the danger of arrest.” 

I saw how, in that long silence, he had been 
meditating my words. 

“ I have come this long drive without feed- 
ing or watering. My master has a temper.” 

5 


66 


The Countess Bettina . 


How much better it might prove to take 
him with us, this rascal in Dorsey’s place ; for 
changing his mind, he might at once inform 
the authorities at Nice. Surely the better plan 
was to have him under my eye. In Paris I 
could lose him. But nothing could be more 
indiscreet, I saw, than to leave him here. 

“You have served us well.” 

“ And myself badly.” 

“ But it is not my way to desert those who 
have done good service. Why is it not better 
for you to go with us ? ” 

He paused, rubbing his eyes, calculating the 
possibilities. 

“ By this night’s work you have earned more 
than in an ordinary month.” 

“ Granted, Monsieur.” 

“ Why not, then, enter my service. I ’ll pay 
you well, — I need a good servant. If you go 
back you are certain of arrest. You have seen 
how much you can make by serving me.” 

“ But Mentone ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I have a sweetheart there.” 

“ And rivals ? ” 


“ Yes, the Saints curse them.” 


On Pour-Boires . 


67 


“ How much better it is to return there rich. 
Does not money buy everything. You are not 
from Mentone ? ” 

“ No, Monsieur, I ’m a Piedmontese.” 

For a moment he hesitated, calculating the 
chances in both ways, urged by fear of arrest, 
by the small possibility of profit if causing our 
arrest, by the presence of the Countess Bettina 
whom he knew as a great lady ; and then, “ I 
will serve you.” 

“ Drive to the station,” said I. “ While I 
book the places, do you find someone to take 
the horses to a stable.” 

“ And give him a louis to see that they ’re 
well rubbed down, and are not watered or fed 
while they ’re warm.” 

So spoke she whom I had seen riding down 
the dangerous path back from Mentone, and 
I liked her the better for considering a horse. 
I cautioned her not to lose sight of the 
rascal while I looked for the places. I did not 
wish to lose him now. I told her, too, to pull 
her cloak well about her face and figure. And 
then I remembered my finances were low. Per- 
ceiving my embarrassment, she pushed her own 
purse into my hand. Blushing a bit I acknowl- 


68 


The Countess Bettina . 


edged it, explaining I had had no time to re- 
turn to the hotel to increase my resources. 
“ Oh, I understand, Monsieur,” said the 
Countess Bettina, laughing. I wondered that 
she could. “Ah, Monsieur,” she continued, 
still in French, “have I not seized your service 
all in a moment. I Ve not given you even 
time to think.” 

Which indeed was quite true, although 
Heaven knew I ’d enough to plan. In the sta- 
tion I found one unengaged compartment for 
the Countess and her maid. For myself and 
my new servant I only succeeded by much 
cajoling in securing two seats, which the agent 
explained was much against the regulations, in 
the smoking department of the dining carriage. 
I gave him an extra louis, counting myself 
lucky, and I Ve been told I could not have 
gained the same accommodation again. 

The station was crowded with that mixture 
of persons who go from Nice to Paris, all un- 
expectedly, in or out of season. I regretted I 
had no great-coat or rug with which to muffle 
myself, and indeed for the first time I found 
I was shivering. Perhaps I trembled for the 
Countess Bettina. I kept her and the two 


On Pour-Boires. 


69 


servants in the shadow — the man now carrying 
the portmanteau very respectfully. All wearied 
as we were, none of us said anything, and we 
only had ten minutes to wait. We indeed had 
reached Nice in the nick of time. Nor did 
either see an acquaintance. But we might 
any moment, and I breathed more freely when 
I stood with the Countess and her maid before 
her compartment. 

“ I saw the man had his louis for grooming 
the poor horses,” she said. “ Good night, 
Monsieur.” 

“ Good night, Mademoiselle, and sleep and 
forget, if you can. You need rest. You have 
had your share of excitement.” 

“ All pays, Monsieur, if I have escaped my 
relatives. I thought of the horses. I fear I 
have thought too little of you.” 

“It’s I who must think of you now. You 
are in my charge. I have a duty to Philip 
Lazere.” 

“ Good night, Monsieur,” she said, giving me 
her hand. 

The affair looked ominous to me, I confess, 
as the train rumbled on. We were on the way 
to Paris. So far, so good. But what after? 


70 


The Countess Bettina. 


“Your name,” said I to the cocker, metamor- 
phosed, the valet. 

“ Pierre Gallaudet, Monsieur.” 

“ Order some beer. You ’ll sleep better.” 

“ Thanks, Monsieur.” 

Drinking he soon was asleep, his evil face 
nodding on the opposite seat, his dress and ap- 
pearance exciting the steward’s derision. I 
gave the latter ten francs, as he brought me a 
whiskey and soda, telling him to take the young 
lady and her maid in the adjoining carriage 
coffee at ten, with the message for her to re- 
main in her compartment until we should reach 
Fontainebleau. Poor little girlish Countess, 
she needed rest, I said again. The whole mat- 
ter, with all its perplexing, unpromising phases 
stared me the whole night ; I could see no so- 
lution ; and it was heavy-eyed, and with an 
aching head that I saw the dawn steal over the 
landscape passing in review before the carriage 
window. The meanwhile Pierre Gallaudet 
snored opposite. Under closer notice his face 
was not so bad. He, like myself, had been 
dragged into this affair unexpectedly, because 
the Countess Bettina’s will had led me. I felt 
a sort of comradeship for the fellow. I was to 


On Pour-Boires . 


7i 


know him better. By odd chances we are 
brought into contact with men. His face, col- 
ored with the sun of the Riviera, glanced and 
beamed as a ray of sunlight reached into the 
carriage window. The fine weather continued. 
I thought oddly of my mother, of old fancies ; 
of other scenes ; of the face of my nurse when 
I was ill in the Hotel du Londres in Constan- 
tinople, — everything was confused ; and I saw 
the Countess Bettina’s eyes. The poplars 
showed clearly in that stiff landscape. Men 
and women were stirring in the fields and all 
blurred ; for I slept ; and fancied and conjec- 
tured, and dreamed no more. How many 
times I have regretted I was born with an im- 
pulsiveness rendering sense naught. How 
many times I ’ve been glad over that very fact. 


CHAPTER VI. 

On the Inconvenience of Knowing Asses , and the Convenience 
of Holding the Esteem of Possible Chaperons. 

“ A COCHER, a cocker , from the Riviera, as 
I live ! ” said the rather familiar voice. 

As I waked, in the carriage now crowded, 
there leaned over me that insufferable bore, 
Charlie Hawkins. 

“ Ah, Jack, how ’re you. You look a bit 
seedy. Been to Monte Carlo ? ’ 

“ Yes,” said I, rubbing my eyes. 

“ How ’d that fellow get here, I ’ve been 
wondering? ” went on Charlie, pointing to my 
Pierre Gallaudet, who was gazing in mute 
astonishment at these unfamiliar surroundings. 

“ Oh, he’s my servant.” 

“ Your servant, eh ? ” stared Charlie. “ Well, 
I never. You must have been pretty hard hit 
down there. How much did you drop ? ” 

“ My sense,” quoth I. 

72 


On Acquaintances. 73 

“ That's Americanese for sous,” cried this 
insufferable ass. “ But where did you pick up 
that fellow. I swear I must tell Lady Fanny.” 

“ Oh, Lady Fanny on this train ?” 

“A lot of us, old man, going up for the 
season.” 

“ The Devil ! ” said I. “ Pardon me, I ’m a 
bit fagged.” 

“ Oh, if I bother you,” sniffed Charlie. 

“ Not the least,” cried I, fearing he would 
bring the whole delightful party down on 
me. And the Countess Bettina! I must close 
his mouth. 

“ I say, Charlie.” 

“ Jack.” 

“ You ’re discreet.” 

“ Why, you know me.” 

“ Now don’t let on I ’m here.” 

“ How can they help finding you. They ’ll 
be passing through here directly to breakfast.” 

In such a predicament the only thing a man 
like Charlie will respect is a liason. In that 
he ’ll concede you privileges ; knowing this, I 
said in a whisper, using the term that in the 
night had charmed the coast guard : 

“ I say, old man, I ’m having an adventure. 


74 


The Countess Bettina . 


I want to be let alone. I Ve been, the fact is, 
— a school girl.” I ’ve heard it ’s better when 
you want entire concealment to touch care- 
lessly the truth. Then fellows like Charlie 
never will discover the fact. Probably he might 
hear later. But I cared not, if I could be rid 
of him. 

“What?” cried he, in astonished respect. 
If I ’d said I ’d been distributing tracts he ’d 
have despised me. When I said I was gayly 
dishonorable, his approval as a man of the 
world was boundless. 

“ Eh, Jack, what won’t you do next?” 

“ Go to heaven.” 

“ Ah, ah, you ’re right, — and the man ? ” 

“ My man made up as a cocker .” 

“ It ’s like a play or a novel,” quoth Charlie. 
“ I ’ll never breathe a word. I say, old man, 
come into my compartment before they dis- 
cover you.” 

He led the way with all the air of a stage 
manager who has on his shoulders the respon- 
sibilities of a first production. 

“ Now tell me,” quoth he, carefully closing 
the door into the aisle. “ I ’m discretion 
itself.” 


On Acquaintances . 


75 


“ Not about a scandal, my dear fellow.” 

“ But with you, you know, it ’s different.” 

“Ah, thanks awfully. I ’ll tell you.” I saw 
how dangerous the situation, and dared it. 
“ She ’s on the train.” 

“ Really ; but tell me.” 

“ Have you ever seen,” said I, “ the Countess 
Bettina of Perigord ? ” I felt a villain to men- 
tion that name to him. But it was my neces- 
sity, and I knew the man. My danger was 
quite as great from that gossip on the train as 
it had been the night before in the hazardous 
undertaking. 

“Yes, I ’ve seen her. She ’s a beauty. The 
greatest heiress in ” 

“ She ’s exactly like her, this lady.” 

“On the train?” quoth Charlie. 

“ Her double, not she, — the lady of the ad- 
venture. I say, old man, you ’ll be at the 
Jockey Club?” 

“ Yes, if you say.” 

“ I ’ll tell you then, but now, as a friend, keep 
Lady Fanny unaware I ’m here.” 

“ Why of course I ’ll do it ; stay here. But 
I must congratulate you. She must be a 
beauty.” 


76 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ Thanks,” said I, knowing I had him. 
“ Thanks, Charlie Hawkins. Now if you don’t 
mind, I ’m sleepy,” and I turned towards the 
wall. 

“ I said you were seedy.” 

I was not sure I could trust Charlie, as he 
went out, but I had made the best show I 
could. May the Countess Bettina forgive ! 

Yet, I could fancy that chatterbox, hang 
him ; I could hear him telling it all over. Had 
I only diverted his attention ? May we be de- 
livered from the people we know ! I was 
fagged, brain-weary, but suddenly I remembered 
if we could get away from this train the very 
place to put the Countess Bettina. On the 
Avenue de l’Alma resides an old friend of my 
mother, Madame Girondier. She would do the 
world for me, would believe against appear- 
ances. I would hurry the Countess to a cab. I 
would explain, partly that is, to Madame. There 
my young lady would be safe for the nonce. 

Pierre Gallaudet entered the compartment. 
Taking a piece of paper from my pocketbook, 
I scribbled a note to the concierge of the Hotel 
Meurice on the Rue de Rivoli. “ I send this 
fellow, a new servant of mine, until I turn up. 


On Acquaintances . 


77 


Don’t let him out of your sight.” I was sure 
that concierge would do so much, remember- 
ing me of old. Many times Lhave been at that 
hostelry, following in the steps of the Iron 
Duke who put up there in ’15. Now, with its 
court,— its lodgings that have been seasoned by 
the years, and have no sympathy with the 
tawdrily new, — it ’s as comfortable an inn as I 
know. I designed to put this Pierre in a cab 
and to send him there as luggage. 

Of course my dear Charlie turned up directly, 
and I make no doubt he ’d told Lady Fanny. 
But I gave him to understand I wanted no 
more of him, discreetly you know, without suf- 
fering him to call on the others. As the train 
passed Fontainebleau I knocked at the Countess 
Bettina’s door. When the maid’s voice said 
enter, I found my princess rather pale and 
heavy-eyed, for, I dare say, the affair now did 
not appear so romantic. 

“ Are you sorry ? ” quoth I. 

“ Sorry, Monsieur,” her face brightening. 
“ Not I ; I only hope we may carry this out.” 

“ Oh, we must, you know.” 

“ We must, of course, I believe you have n’t 
^lept a wink/’ 


78 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ Sleep is for those without care. I ’ve some- 
thing better. I know where to take you.” 
Queer I had not thought of Madame Giron- 
dier before. “ You are known in Paris, Made- 
moiselle.” 

“ I dare say, Monsieur.” 

“ Well this is on the Avenue de l’Alma. I 
fear you may not go out for some time.” 

“ Oh, I expect to hide, Mr. Dalton. Now do 
you, if you please, go to the German Embassy. 
Inquire there for Count Von Hohenstein.” She 
took a paper from her pocket. 

“ The Count will telegraph this. Look, Mon- 
sieur.” I read “ Bettina, Paris.” 

“ And he ’ll come ? ” 

“ Certainly, Monsieur,” said the Countess Bet- 
tina. “ It ’s sweet to know I ’ve dared, that 
I ’ve made my relatives’ notions impossible.” 

Did I say she was weary? Now all at once 
she was that brave young lady who had planned 
our whole expedition. 

At the station, I had anticipated either arrest, 
or the unpleasantness of my acquaintances. 
But my manceuvering with Charlie had been 
well. I only saw him trying to fathom the 
mystery under the Countess’s wraps. 


On Acquaintances . 


79 


“Don't forget the Jockey," said he, in pass- 
ing. I wonder how long he waited there for 
the good story which never came. 

First I put the Countess Bettina and her 
maid into a four-wheeler. I took our man of 
the Riviera to another. 

“ Give this note to the concierge of the Hotel 
Meurice, and at the same time deliver this man." 

The cocker, recognizing a rural specimen of 
his kind, grunted. 

“ But, Monsieur," said Pierre. 

“ Get in, and wait at the hotel." 

“ How do I know Monsieur may not desert 
me?" 

“ You ’re my servant. You must trust me," 
said I, pushing him. 

“ But, Monsieur ? " he questioned. 

“ Drive on," said I to the cocker , giving him 
his fare and a pour-boire, and Pierre was borne 
for the first time into the Parisian world, to my 
cost, as it was to prove. But I had no notion 
he should know the Countess’s hiding place, nor 
that he should be left to wander irresponsibly 
about Paris. 

Returning to my charge, I explained to her 
as we drove along, Madame Girondier. 


8o 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ She ’s one of the best women, will treat you 
nicely, and is discretion itself.” 

The little Countess gave a cry of delight. 
“ Oh, Paris,” she apostrophized. 

“ Delightful to all women — to all men with 
an income.” 

“ To us,” said the Countess Bettina, “ because 
it means we are safe.” 

“ For the moment,” I corrected. 

“ No, no, not for the moment. The hardest 
part is over. And don’t forget Herr Von Hohen- 
stein at the Embassy.” 

“ That I will remember. But that I should 
report at the English Embassy I ’ll forget,” 
said I. 

“ How horrid ! the trouble I ’m making you,” 
said the Countess Bettina. 

“ How charming ! how adventurous ! ” said I. 

“ Mr. Da Vinne said not half enough of you.” 

“Now, must I thank you, Mademoiselle. 
What ’s my trade as diplomatic agent to that 
of serving you.” 

“ And I, sir, shall remember always,” said the 
Countess, again interspersing her remarks with 
little cries of delight at the sight of this Paris, 
always so new to those who return, always 


On Acquaintances . 8 1 

glowing with its own warmth of gayety that 
yet leaves so many cold. 

On the Avenue de l’Alma, leaving the 
Countess in the cab, I sent in my card to 
Madame Girondier, who, luckily, was in. 

“ Madame,” I told her, “ I Ve the greatest 
favor to ask.” 

“ None too great, Jack,” the good friend was 
pleased to say. 

“ I would hesitate before asking it of many 
people, but with you I stop at nothing. 
I ’ve had the chance, whether wisely or un- 
wisely for her, of doing a young lady — who 
is a great lady — a service. To carry out this 
it is necessary she should remain in hiding in 
Paris until there may arrive here the gentleman 
who has her matters in hand.” 

“Ah, Jack, if I did not know you,” said 
Madame Girondier, who is a Frenchwoman, and 
considers all men more or less Frenchmen. 

“ Then you know me well enough to know 
that I will not trifle with appearances, while I ’m 
not particularly afraid of Madame Grundy.” 

“ She ’s the 4 Meeses ’ who dislikes scandal, 
Monsieur Jack, if I remember.” 

“ Because of her I ’ve come, Madame, to you 
6 


82 


The Countess Bettina . 


with this young lady. You know us too well 
to doubt.” 

“ You ’re a Dalton, Jack.” 

“ And Belinda Fletcher’s son,” said I, clinch- 
ing the matter. 

“ Yes, I believe you.” 

“ This young lady is below.” 

“ Who is she?" 

“ With her maid, a Mademoiselle Melrose,” 
said I, using the Countess’s mother’s name*. 

Madame Girondier turned suddenly, taking 
my hand. “ You ’re in need, I see. Bring 
Mademoiselle to me. 5 ’ 

When she saw her, this little Countess 
Bettina, (although little may not be exactly the 
right term, she reaching to my chin, and I over 
six feet) Madame Girondier was conquered by 
the girlish face where evil never could be for an 
instant. I like to think that no sophistication, ' 
no experience in artificial societies can change 
the Countess Bettina, although she indeed has 
my fault of impulse. Was it not for this, because 
I had the same nature, that I have served her. 

After having impressed on Madame Girondier, 
now quite satisfied to know no more, the strict 
need of the utmost silence about her guest, — 


On Acquaintances . 


33 


that she should not be seen on the street, — that 
her servants should not gossip about her, I 
started for the German Embassy, having the 
Countess’s strict instructions to go there first. 

I felt while I waited in the Herr Count Von 
Hohenstein’s ante-room the force of Charlie 
Hawkin’s remark earlier in the day. I looked 
seedy. I indeed must have been a sorry object, 
through lack of sleep, and not having changed 
my clothes within twenty-four hours. It 
proved that I once had met Count Von Hohen- 
stein in London, as he was pleased to recall. I 
asked him the Duke of Vaucluse’s address, 
briefly handing him the Countess Bettina’s 
message. He looked me over narrowly. 

“The Duke is my best friend. I don’t quite 
understand, Monsieur Dalton.” 

“ Ah, I can’t explain, Monsieur,” said I. 

Unlocking a drawer, he took from it a paper, 
which he read over carefully. 

“I will send the message to Yokohama. 
May I have the pleasure of your company at 
dinner, Mr. Dalton ? ” he ended in English. 

The absurdity of dining as I was of course 
made me decline, although I would have wished 
to see more of this gentleman, representing, as 


84 


The Countess Bettina . 


he did, the strong hand which I counted on as 
my aid in this affair. 

Going out, I fell morbid. What, indeed, if 
this Philip Lazere should fail us ? I had been 
led so far by the Countess Bettina’s belief in 
him, and by his reputation. This aspect of the 
affair was, to say the least, disheartening. But 
I shook it away ; I could not consider it, because 
I would not. 

I then looked up Da Vinne, who was in Lon- 
don, but his man raised me some money — I did 
not wish to go to my banker — and he promised 
further to send me some clothes to the Meurice. 
While I have been for weeks in the most seedy 
way in rough countries, a day of the same con- 
ditions in civilized places is unbearable — such 
being the nature of our sophistication. 

Walking from Da Vinne’s to my hotel I won- 
dered if I had not made a mistake in going 
there. But I decided it was as well. The 
Perigords and Estes, should they associate me 
with the Countess Bettina’s disappearance, 
would look for me in odd places, rather than in 
my usual haunts. I was content in feeling that 
for the present the Countess herself was well 
hidden. 


On Acquaintances. 85 

Entering the court of the Meurice, the con- 
cierge hailed me. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, “ I had, your note, but 
no man.” 

“ No man ? ” 

“ The cabman explained that he had gotten 
out, and sent him on.” 

“ The Devil!” said I. 

That Pierre was a cunning rascal. I did not 
like exactly the color of his disappearance. 

Jaded as I was, the matter kept bothering. 
Still I did not see, although they might find me 
easily enough, should they conclude I had a 
hand in the matter, how they could find the 
Countess’s hiding place. The whole fantastical- 
ness of the affair appeared to me as I sat in 
my old rooms, which, by some magical process, 
they always seem prepared to give me in this 
hostelry. Certain it was I must not be seen 
going to the house on the Avenue de l’Alma. 
Yet, as an explanation to the Countess, I must 
speak with her once more, early the next morn- 
ing. 

And indeed in the morning all , seemed easy 
enough. I had slept. That was enough with 
my regained health, which now was buoyancy 


86 


The Countess Bettina . 


of the spirits. Nor on making inquiry did I 
find the Countess’s disappearance had yet been 
noised. She probably was right in saying there 
would be no noise. They would use every 
means by secret agents to find her, rightly 
understanding she had run away from her mar- 
riage. I saw, in the light rest gives, how, in 
many ways, I had been clumsy in my manage- 
ment of the affair. For instance, I regretted 
not having left the rascal of a cocker at Nice. 
But it might be all as well as it was. What 
has been done, only can be corrected, not 
undone. Nor did I see, suspicion probably 
not having yet been attracted my way, that I 
ran particular risk to the Countess or myself in 
calling on her once again, while it was not in 
my heart to leave her, whose entire dependence 
was on me, without a further word of explana- 
tion. The nurses and the children were in the 
garden of the Tuileries always the same, as I 
walked along ; the same strollers ; the same 
Paris, changeless as the monotony of men’s 
lives, for all their changing emotions and 
actions. I whistled a merry air, brave in Da 
Vinne’s clothes, which his man had sent, and 
which fitted me exactly. As light-hearted as a 


On Acquaintances . 


37 


girl at her first dance, I went that morning after 
up the Avenue des Champs Elysees, the Arc 
de Triomphe seeming to beckon me to the 
Countess Bettina. 


CHAPTER VII. 


How the Countess Bettina Thought of Her Old Days in Peri- 
gord, and How I Bade Her A u Revoir. 

“ I WOULD wish I could feed my pony his 
sugar this morning,” the Countess Bettina was 
saying. 

“ Mademoiselle is sorry ? ” 

“ Not sorry, but you know it ’s hard all at 
once to give up the old, and I have a horse, and 
the black hound, Maurice, in Perigord, and 
here — I ’m caged.” She paused, looking out 
of the window which brought a view of the end- 
less flow of the Avenue des Champs Elysees, 
Madame Girondier’s house being about the cor- 
ner of the Avenue de l’Alma. “ See, Monsieur, 
the horse led by the groom, and with a woman’s 
saddle. Oh, for a turn in the Bois. Ah — ” 
She saw my serious face, and she laughed, as 
merrily as a lark may carol. “ Sorry, Mr. Dal- 
ton, not I, — not a bit of sorrow is in my heart 
at all. For I have done this out of my heart’s 
88 


An A u Revoir . 


89 


wish, and for Philip Lazere. Do you suppose, 
sir, that Bettina Perigord acts one day and 
regrets the next — not I.” 

“ And yet one longs for the old, — for the 
horse one rides, for the dogs, — for the sweet 
habits, that by venturing into the new one sur- 
renders.” 

“ And I think,” said she, nodding, “ of my 
father, suffering because I am gone. For in 
his way he loves me, and yet, not so much me, 
as the name and the name’s fame. For the 
name’s sake my will must give way. If my 
mother were alive, it might be different, but 
she I have no longer, — to flatter, to scold me. 
And he, — the Count of Perigord indeed would 
give me everything, — and ah, I love him ! — but 
my own notion of the future. He brought his 
will against mine, and I am here, sir, because 
this was not my affair alone, but Philip Lazere’s, 
and he ’ll know to-day.” 

“ The message was sent.” 

“And there in Japan he knows I need, and 
he ’ll come. Ah, sir, I ’m a silly girl ; I ’d as lief 
be caged if my heart be as I wish it. But I ’ll 
not have my soul bondaged to Este, or to any 
man, save one. And yet, — I ’d this moment, — 


90 The Countess Bettina . 

such being the girlishness of it, I suppose, — 
give the world, had I it, to be able to pat my 
horse for a moment, to feel his warm breath on 
my face. A horse, a dog understands, sir.” 

“ I know, Mademoiselle, for I have some on 
my place in Shropshire.” 

“ Mr. Dalton, tell me of them, I beg you.” 

“You know the story. You have one your- 
self. Your heart feels because they ’re not here. 
I ’ve waked sometimes in a dangerous place, — 
or in trouble, — and I have longed for no hu- 
man voice, but as you, for the brutish sympa- 
thy that understands without the bungling of 
words.” 

Tears were in the Countess Bettina’s blue 
Scottish eyes. 

“ Ah, you know.” 

“ I indeed know, Mademoiselle, and how you 
felt in the loneliness of last night, when you ’d 
half regretted what you ’d begun, — the dreari- 
ness of being among strangers. I ’ve known 
this myself, for I ’ve been alone much; and 
then I ’ve thrown it off by work.” 

“ Ah, I ’ve no work.” 

“ No, Mademoiselle, to be caged in a town 
house will be a hard matter, I know well. Ma- 


An A u Revoir. 


9i 


dame Girondier has a house in Brittany, a quiet 
place by the sea. If you wish you can go 
there, — but it should be to-day, — as I do not 
doubt but that by to-morrow all the approaches 
of all the stations in Paris will be watched by 
the Count of Perigord’s agents. Your family 
has a power almost limitless, for it is the power 
not alone of riches but of relationship with 
many of the great families, who, too, would 
use every means in such a chase.” 

And the full force of this reasoning I was 
indeed to know, and not long to wait. 

“ I would better not stir?” 

“ Better not, perhaps, and yet I do not wish 
to take away from you the open, that which 
makes life pleasant.” 

“ Only for a month ! six weeks, and for Philip. 
Do you suppose, sir, I Ve not the strength of 
my purpose ? ” 

“ I know the contrary too well. Did you 
not persuade me? ” 

“ Poor Mr. Dalton,” said she. 

“ And now I ’m persuaded we must carry this 
out, Mademoiselle. Yes, I swear you shall 
have your heart’s wish, for your own sake, and 
for Philip Lazere’s.” 


92 


The Countess Bettina . 


So easy is it to be boastful under the charm- 
ing eyes. Then the purpose is warm, the ac- 
complishment easy ; only after we wonder at 
our words, and their rashness, sickening over all 
we have said. 

“Your hand on that,” cried the Countess 
Bettina, like the young girl she was. “ You ’re 
my faithful servant.” 

“Your most faithful servant, Mademoiselle.” 

“ And in the dull daysof waiting you at least 
I shall see.” 

“ Mademoiselle, not I. I indeed should not 
have ventured here to-day, for who may have 
seen me enter? What chain of evidence will 
lead to Madame Girondier’s door?” 

“You frighten me?” 

“ Not to frighten you am I talking in this 
strain, because I must see you no more for your 
sake, — for the fear of discovery which would 
spoil all we have done.” 

“ Which if it did not land me in a convent 
would marry me to Este,” reflected the 
Countess Bettina. 

“ All, Mademoiselle, would be undone.” 

“ And yet, sir, what am I to do shut up by 
these four walls ? The excitement of last 


An Au Revoir. 


93 


night’s adventure I liked. I like not monotony, 
with none about I love, save Annette, — with 
none I may talk what ’s in my heart. Sir, 
whatever the risk, you must come, — once a 
week.” 

“ Not once a week, — not at all, — until Mon- 
seigneur the Duke of Vaucluse shall take the 
management of this affair.” 

“ But I shall want you, sir. I shall need you, 
to talk to. The loneliness will break my heart.” 

“ Mademoiselle, it ’s for your good name’s 
sake, — for the accomplishment of our plan.” 

“ I care not for that at all. What ’s my 
name to any except me. I know. I care not 
for people. I ’m Bettina Perigord, sir. I ’ve 
men to fight for me, — money to buy silence.” 

“ I know, Mademoiselle, but I know, too, 
the danger which being a young girl you do 
not estimate rightfully.” 

She was blushing, biting her lip. 

“ I could bite out my tongue for boasting like 
a parrot. I did not mean that. But, sir, I ’ve 
a way. We ’ll go to Brittany to-day, inform- 
ing Count Von Iiohenstein, that he may let my 
cousin Philip know, and there in the quiet of 
Madame Girondier’s place we can walk, and 


94 


The Countess Bettina . 


drive, and have the sweetness of the country. 
What indeed is the use of the town unless to 
dance in, to see people in, to watch the crowds 
or the shops. Oh, Mr. Dalton, I beg you let 
me have my wish.” 

“ If I could, how readily I ’d grant it. I ’m 
not a prince giving favors, but the servant of a 
princess ” 

“ Her friend, sir.” 

“ Better, if you ’ll permit me her friend 
who ’d be faithless to his trust if he permitted 
her to take a single needless risk. Made- 
moiselle, the danger of leaving Paris, you must 
not take, in my judgment. I believe, as I have 
said, the stations will be watched, perhaps are.” 

“ If I could get to Perigord ? ” 

“ You could n’t get into Perigord without it 
being known.” 

“ I could hide among my own people. But 
if not Perigord, — I differ with you, — why 
Brittany.” 

“ If it ’s Mademoiselle’s will, I ’ll explain to 
Madame Girondier. She possibly could get 
you into Brittany, disguising you as one of her 
servants.” 


“ And you ? ” 


An A u Revoir. 


95 


“ Must say au revoir .” 

“ Au revoir ? ” 

“ Until I have instructions from Monseigneur, 
your cousin, Mademoiselle.” 

“ But I wish you to be with me. I ’ve told 
you I must have somebody to talk with,” cried 
the Countess Bettina. 

“ Mademoiselle, I ’ve told you only half the 
reason why I should not visit here, — nor in 
Brittany.” 

“ And the other half ? ” 

“ The selfish half, — the danger I run if impli- 
cated in this affair.” 

“Your danger, sir ? ” 

“If you are caught it ’s not so very bad, — per- 
haps a marriage with Lazere brought about by 
your very action, — at the worst a convent. For 
me, Mademoiselle, may be a French prison.” 

“Sir,” said the Countess Bettina, “I indeed 
am selfish. I think of myself alone, of the 
pleasure of having those I like about me, — too 
little of their happiness.” 

“Not, Mademoiselle, that that matters to me 
so much as your wish, the accomplishment of 
our plan.” 

“ Ah, sir, I ’ve had proof you ’re no coward.” 


96 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ And although I shall not be in sight I shall 
be near. But no one may say I ’ve entered be- 
fore to-day. If you wish me, you have only to 
send to the Count Von Hohenstein. Every 
day I shall hear of you, for Madame Girondier 
will write under enclosure to the Count, nor 
shall I report in London, as is my duty.” 

“You must not neglect your career for me.” 

“ Do you not know,” said I, smiling, “ that 
fye who serves two, serves neither. While I ’m 
serving the cause of Perigord and Lazere, I ’ll 
make no division, and now, Mademoiselle, au 
revoir .” 

“ Must it be now? ” 

“ Now. Do you not see it ’s getting late, 
and that every minute here may be filled with 
the danger of discovery. It ’s au revoir , Made- 
moiselle, until I may deliver to the Duke of 
Vaucluse his lady.” 

“ And au revoir it is,” said the Countess Bet- 
tina, “ and I thank you, sir, out of my heart, 
and out of my heart I shall pay you.” And 
she, the little, tall Princess of Perigord, gave 
me her hand. I raised it to my lips once. 

“ I ’m glad, Mademoiselle, you persuaded me 
that night in Mentone.” 


An Au Revoir. 97 

And I turned down Madame Girondier’s 
stair, taking with me a picture of the Countess 
Bettina as she stood prettily graceful, and gra- 
ciously sweet, girlish yet womanly, imperious 
yet yielding; for she graced her position, not 
her position her. Yes, was she a lady to serve, 
to fight for, to die for, this little Countess of 

Perigord. 

7 


CHAPTER VIII. 


On the Folly of Meddling with Other People's Affairs when 
Our Own Want Mending. 

Yet, as I observed, we often are regretful of 
the things we boasted and asserted under the 
influence of the eyes before which we would 
strut and spread our colors like peacocks. 

During the days of waiting that followed, 
when, through Philip Lazere’s good friend the 
Count, I heard every day of matters at Madame 
Girondier’s, how Mademoiselle was now merry, 
again sad, of how she was pale through lack of 
that out-door life which had been so much to 
her, and how she bore it bravely enough, of 
how she had written me, and how Madame 
Girondier, — good chaperon she was, although I 
thought this needless, — would not permit the 
delivery of the letters, — although I had this 
daily news through the Count, who became my 
warm, good friend, — without understanding in 
the least the nature of my intrigue in the in- 
98 


99 


The Folly of Meddling . 

terest of his friend, the Duke, — yet was I in 
constant fear of what might happen, the more 
probably because nothing appeared to happen, 
no notice at all to be taken of the Countess 
Bettina’s disappearance. I looked up Da 
Vinne on his return, asking him to keep me 
informed of anything occurring in Perigord, or 
in the affairs of the Prince of Este. 

“ Really,” he said, “ I don't know how those 
people may interest you, my dear Jack. All I 
can find about them is that the Countess Bet- 
tina marries the Prince, June twenty-seventh.” 

Yet I knew the Countess was at Madame 
Girondier’s, and I admired the power which 
kept the disappearance out of the public notice, 
or of any stray gossip. So quiet everything 
seemed that I ventured over to London on the 
midnight Calais express, to report to my chief. 
I only saw that of London to be seen hurriedly 
in a four-wheeler between Victoria Street and 
Lord Burton’s office, where I found my chief 
rather disposed to be angry at my late appear- 
ance. I pleaded my illness, from which I said 
I had not fully recovered, and he was inclined 
to be so well pleased with the work I had 
done in Constantinople that I obtained a three 


ioo The Countess Bettina, 

months’ leave. And then, not seeing more of 
London than before, I posted back to the 
Meurice, a lodging I intended to change at 
once. I had told the Countess, under the influ- 
ence of her eyes, that I would not leave Paris. 
And it was with a certain feeling of guilt, and 
of apprehension over what might have been 
during my absence, that I went at once to the 
Count Von Hohenstein’s. But exactly nothing 
had happened. Madame Girondier, who had 
come to take the warmest interest in her charge, 
reported that the young lady chafed over her 
in-door life, and was inquiring earnestly about 
me. I remained to dinner with the Count, 
when we talked over his friend, who, he told 
me, had obtained leave, and was even now on 
his return. This was the best news, and I 
hastened to send it under an enclosure to the 
Avenue de l’Alma. 

“ Matters sometimes do appear to turn out 
to one’s satisfaction,” I explained to the Count, 
as I left the pen and ink he had offered me. 

“ Ah, Philip Lazere makes his affairs turn 
out, Mr. Dalton. He is the bravest gentleman 
I ever knew. Nothing discourages him.” 

And he went on discussing the qualities of 


The Folly of Meddling . i o I 

that Philip, the eleventh of the name, Duke of 
Vaucluse, and hereditary king of the present 
republic of Sturania, an heritage his father, the 
former Duke, had tried quixotically and, as it 
appeared, half-heartedly to recover. 

For the tenth Philip Lazere had been at heart 
a Democrat. The attempt had been made, con- 
trary to his belief in the stability of the new 
order, in deference to the wishes of his adhe- 
rents, and of the then Prince of Este, who 
insisted on a rebellion. It failed, proving, the 
tenth Duke said, that the day of the Many 
had come, and that it was now the part of the 
old rulers to cease to have any but the distinc- 
tion of birth, or of mind, and to lead the Many 
in their parliaments, their assemblies, or by the 
force of a good social example. These princi- 
ples he had taught his son, who, left a poor man, 
had entered the service of his cousins, the Ho- 
henzollerns. The Duchess, the present Duke's 
mother, was a Princess of Este. That princi- 
pality on her father’s death went to another 
branch of the family, rich through its alliances, 
represented now by the fiance of the Countess 
Bettina. 

Familiar as these facts are to most poople, I 


102 


The Countess Bettina. 


have run them over to show how the Countess 
Bettina came to have two wooers, one, Philip 
Lazere, her third cousin through the Melroses, 
and the other, Ferdinand of Este, too her 
cousin by a Bavarian connection. The union 
of Este with Perigord would make, it was said, 
an alliance between two of the richest noble 
families in Europe. 

So that night the Count, his friend, and I 
discussed Philip Lazere. 

When I arose to go he offered me his carri- 
age, but I told him being rather off my exer- 
cise I preferred to walk. Leaving him, I went 
out from his hotel into the Avenue du Bois de 
Boulogne. Passing out from the enclosure of 
that hotel is a little stretch of green shaded 
with elms to the curb, where are some seats 
rented during the day. On one of these two 
men were seated. One, rising, limped up to 
me : 

“ A sou, Monsieur, for a poor cripple.” 

I never refuse a beggar. It costs in the end 
very little, and I believe I have my only super- 
stition about it. So now, I fumbled for a coin 
in my pocket, noticing at the moment that a 
closed coup£ stood at the curb with two men on 


The Folly of Meddling. 103 

the box. The sweep of the vehicles still was 
up and down the avenue, as it is of a June 
night, but where I stood, shaded by the trees, 
and by the wall of the Count Von Hohenstein’s 
hotel, were few passers. 

As I put my hand into my pocket the fellow 
brought me a stinging, unexpected blow be- 
tween the eyes. Turning with a cry to guard 
against another, I saw his companion spring up 
from the bench. Something like a loaded stick 
was brought down on my skull. I was dizzy, 
knew I was tottering, and then, knew nothing 
at all. 

When I did come to my senses it was with 
the consciousness of a sickening taste in my 
mouth, (I afterwards thought it was that of 
the chloroform which doubtless had been 
used) and of a head that seemed it would burst. 
At first I stared onto a ceiling where Guido’s 
“ Aurora ” rode in her triumphal car. The room 
appeared to be brilliantly lighted. I tried to 
move my hands, to find they were bound, and 
my feet, with the same result. Then I first was 
aware of a grinning, malevolent, familiar face of 
a very tall man who regarded me from the foot 
of the bed. Striving to place him, I suddenly 


104 77 z £ Countess Bettina. 

recalled where I had seen him, — Baptiste, the 
groom, with the Countess Bettina on the cliff 
path ; and a voice confirmed my memory. 

“ Give him brandy, Baptiste. We want him 
to talk. I was afraid he was dead.” A clever, 
wordly, modulated, sarcastic voice was this, — 
the voice of experience, and intrigue. And 
moving my eyes — I could not turn my body — 
I saw at the bedside a little old gentleman, 
with a smooth-shaven, thin face, that had not a 
wrinkle, — sunken bright black eyes telling of 
age, excess, or care, or all, — black hair scattered 
with white. Tilted on the back of his head was 
a silk hat, and he wore, with his collar turned 
up, a fur-lined coat which thrown back revealed 
on his shirt front, he was in evening dress, 
numerous insignia and decorations. In his 
hand he held a little bamboo stick, with which 
he poked my numbed limbs. 

“You feel badly, fellow. I wish you felt 
worse, but, first, you must talk. The brandy, 
Baptiste.” 

Baptiste put a little silver flask to my lips, 
and as the hot stuff went surging through my 
veins, making my head throbs the worse, my 
reason came back, and I saw I was in the 


The Folly of Meddling, 105 

hands of his highness the Count of Perigord 
who, without scandal or noise, had abducted 
me, the abductor, as he may have supposed. I 
felt all at once drunk with brandy, because of 
my condition, the shock to the system, I sup- 
pose. 

What could have been done better by this 
powerful gentleman ! I simply had disappeared. 
So many people disappear in this world. My 
name never would be connected with that of 
his daughter. I never could make of her a 
story. He would find out — nay doubtless had 
found out — the Countess Bettina’s hiding place. 
The marriage with Este might go on merrily 
June twenty-seventh. The Countess simply 
had been in Perigord making her preparations. 

And I — where was I in this matter? The 
Count had the relish of power. He had me. 
And even in these last years of the last century 
of all, — under electricity and the glare of the 
press, — power could have its way ; could make 
those obnoxious to it disappear. 

As that draught of brandy went singing to 
my brain, it sang an air of which the refrain 
was, Fool to meddle with other peoples affairs, 
particularly when those people have the 


106 The Countess Bettina. 

potentiality of money, and a tendency to 
mediaeval methods possible even in a capital 
boastful of being the most civilized. What is 
civilization? A veneer indeed. 

Instead of speaking, I laughed, not at Mon- 
sieur de Perigord but at myself. Yet the laugh 
angered him. 


CHAPTER IX. 


How I Found in Monsieur de Perigord a Nobleman of Several 
Mediaeval Ideas , 

In fact the laugh threw Monsieur de Perigord 
into a frenzy. Probably he had been high 
wrought by the care of his search, and he was 
a father. I cannot say I can blame him, and 
of course he did not know I was laughing at 
myself, not at him. I am too discreet to laugh 
at the man who has me bound hands and feet. 
But he misconstrued the laugh’s cause, and 
proceeded to belabor me with the bamboo stick 
much as I have seen a monkey in the Zoo 
belabor its comrade. Monsieur de Perigord is 
a small man, and a small man never appears 
well in a temper. His daughter is entirely 
after the Melroses, not the least like him ; but 
she has, as I know, his imperiousness. 

“Fellow! Fellow!” cried this gentleman, 
hitting me again over head and shoulders. I 

confess the blows stung, hurt, I was afraid he 

J07 


108 The Countess Bettina . 

would put out an eye, but I managed to speak 
now, although my head throbbed fearfully. 

“ I beg your pardon, Monsieur. I was only 
laughing at myself to think how completely 
you have me in your power.” 

At the sound of my voice, — broken and faint 
although it was, — he paused as if ashamed of 
himself. 

“You shall learn,” he said, more urbanely, 
“ not to meddle with my affairs.” 

“ I indeed have learned so much, Monsieur,” 
said I. 

He put his hands behind him, walking up and 
down the room ; a round room, a mediaeval 
room, a great fireplace on one side, four little 
slits, more openings for light than windows, 
ten or twelve feet up on the walls. These 
could not have been more than three feet high 
nor six inches broad. The rough walls were 
not covered by lath or plaster at the sides. 
But the ceiling, which I was to have an oppor- 
tunity of studying, was covered with a repro- 
duction, and a very good one as I can attest, of 
Guido’s “ Aurora.” The lady of the dawn was 
driving light before her car. Me she was leav- 
ing in darkness. Opposite the bedpost— it 


Several Mediceval Ideas . 1 09 

was an iron bed — was a heavy oak chair barred 
with steel slats. I understood how it was. I 
was high up in the top room of a tower, proba- 
bly in some chateau in the environs of Paris. 
Or I might be even in the centre of the Quar- 
tier Latin. It did not matter. No sound could 
get through those walls, and beyond that door 
probably was another door, then some narrow 
stone steps, then another door. I saw the situa- 
tion clearly while Monsieur de Perigord walked 
up and down, his hands behind him. I wondered 
if I could squeeze myself up the chimney ; up 
there I might fly. Two oak chairs, with the bed, 
and the painting of the “ Aurora ” completed 
the furniture. On the mantel were two can- 
delabra where burned tall candles. I saw it all. 
I sighed. My head would burst. The great 
Baptiste stood immovable at the bed foot. 
Monsieur de Perigord stopped his saunter 
there, having recovered himself, his face now 
calm, diplomatic, non-committal. 

“ It ’s good of you, Monsieur,” said I, “ to 
provide so excellent a reproduction of Guido 
Reni for the delectation of those you condemn 
to lie bound on their backs indefinitely.” 

I had thought to throw km £ rage, my 


I IO 


The Countess Bettina . 


only method of hurting him in the least ; a 
poor enough substitute when my aching fingers 
ached to throttle him. 

He looked at me strangely; for a moment 
critically. 

“ Really, Monsieur, I admire that quality in 
a man, villain although he may be, which per- 
mits him to jest in such a predicament.’' 

“ Ah, Monsieur,” said I, “ it never was the 
way of my people to ask quarter.” 

“ Your people, Monsieur,” sneered Monsieur 
de Perigord. 

“ Were gentlemen when you Perigords were 
cloddish peasants,” said I from my position on 
the bed. 

“ Baptiste,” said Monsieur de Perigord, “ un- 
tie Monsieur’s hands and feet.” 

Baptiste, grunting with some disgust at hav- 
ing to touch me, untied the numbed ankles and 
wrists. Lying still for an instant, I tried to 
raise myself, and fell back faintly, with that 
horrid taste of narcotic. 

“ The brandy may help you,” suggested 
Monsieur de Perigord, not impolitely. But I 
raised myself, with an effort ; stood up, rather 
dizzy, to sink back onto the bed, 


Several Mediceval Ideas . ill 

“You have faithful retainers, Monsieur, in 
this day and time. They near finished me 
between the blow and the drug.” 

“ I have a few good servants from Perigord 
who do exactly as I tell them, and tell no tales. 
I regret that Monsieur’s conduct has necessi- 
tated these extreme measures. For my family’s 
sake, — for my daughter’s, — I had no other way. 
You may like to know she is now on her way to 
Perigord again ; that no one is hurt in this 
affair save Monsieur himself.” 

Monsieur de Perigord here took out a silver 
snuff-box from which he took a minute pinch. 

“ The courts of law are not always certain 
justice, and they bring a publicity I wish to 
avoid. There are cases, Monsieur, where the 
private individual can administer justice the 
more effectively, — extreme ones, I grant.” 

“ Like the present ? ” 

“ Exactly,” said Monsieur de Perigord. “ You 
know, Monsieur, you are a handsome fellow, 
bred a gentleman, related to one of the greatest 
names in England. I do not blame my daugh- 
ter entirely, knowing women.” 

“ I am obliged,” said I. 

“ But you, Monsieur, I hold strictly account- 


I 12 


The Countess Bettina, 


able to me and mine. While I do not wish to 
punish you personally, — although I might have 
wished so much, before I saw you, — it is my 
bounden duty to myself and mine, that you 
should be out of the way, that you shall have 
no chance to talk — ” 

“ Monsieur, do I look as if I would talk about 
a matter of honor.” 

“No, in strict justice I grant you do not, 
but there is the possibility, which must not 
exist.” He snapped the cover on the snuff- 
box several times. “ And so you see, Mon- 
sieur, you simply disappear, — that is all. The 
English journals after a time will chronicle 
the disappearance of Monsieur John Fletcher 
Dalton of the Foreign Office, a poor cousin of 
Lord Duesdale, there it ends. You have heard 
of such disappearances.” 

“Ah,” said I, “Monsieur de Perigord must 
inherit some of the blood of the Medicii, and 
their methods. I dare say he is a connoisseur 
in poisons.” 

Monsieur de Perigord shuddered. 

“ Not that, Monsieur, I ’m no poisoner. I ’m 
executing justice, punishing him who has in- 
jured me and mine. I have no wish — God 


Several Mediceval Ideas . 1 1 3 

forbid — to kill where the courts only would 
make imprisonment. I am no executioner, — 
not I. But I propose simply that you remain 
in this room as long as you live. The Count- 
ess Bettina shall think you have deserted her, — 
that is all. She gladly will marry her cousin 
the Prince, when she knows how unworthy the 
; person who risked her good name by a vulgar 
elopement.” 

My heart went all at once to pumping. The 
wretched fool of a little mediaeval gentleman 
surviving into this century ! He thought the 
Countess Bettina had eloped with me, for my 
sake. He did not suspect Philip Lazere. Nor 
indeed did I see my way to informing him. If 
he did not know, I had no right to endanger 
the Countess’s happiness by exciting his sus- 
picion in that direction. I could not better 
myself by so doing. I only could embarrass 
her for whom I was in this plight. And now 
that all of my effort was for naught, now that 
she was taken back to Perigord, I had no no- 
tion to make the matter harder for her. I had 
bungled sufficiently, that was certain. Poor 
little Countess Bettina ! Would she think then 

I had deserted her ? That thought indeed was 
8 


H4 


The Countess Bettina . 


the hardest of Monsieur de Perigord’s justice. 
He had made me disappear, had removed, he 
thought, the chance of scandal, and the chance 
of the Countess Bettina thinking well of me. 
How fine and exact indeed was the little old 
gentleman’s punishment ! 

“ Monsieur,” said he, looking me over care- 
fully. “ I have known your cousin Lord Dues- 
dale.” 

“ My third cousin,” corrected I. For neither 
his lordship, nor his son, nor his son’s son had 
done many favors to me or mine. I owed my 
position in the Foreign Office to the influence of 
my mother’s relatives, the Fletchers of County 
Salop ; and I was not particularly pleased, you 
may understand, at Monsieur de Perigord’s 
reference, although he intended it as an allevi- 
ating circumstance to my villainy. 

“ I have the pleasure of that nobleman’s ac- 
quaintance,” went on Monsieur de Perigord. 
“ And I ’m persuaded, — for how else could 
Bettina ever have favored you ? — ” 

“Not me, I assure you, Monsieur,” I dis- 
claimed, not wishing that the Countess Bettina 
should be so misstated, although the reference 
made me for a moment happy, as some things 


Several Mediczval Ideas. 


1 15 

will. When you make a sacrifice for a woman^ 
you begin to think of her, to care for her opin- 
ion, and I hoped, whatever the statements 
Monsieur de Perigord might be pleased to 
make that the Countess Bettina would remem- 
ber I had served her, if indeed she were forced 
to believe I finally had deserted her. 

“ Oh, ho, Monsieur,” went on Monsieur de 
Perigord, accepting the correction, “ it may be 
better put that the very fact of your persuading 
the Countess to forget her duty to herself and 
to her family, — that very fact may show that 
you have some fine instincts, and as Lord 
Duesdale’s relative, may be held the gentle- 
man.” 

“ I do not care,” said I, shrugging my shoul- 
der, “ how you may hold me.” 

“ Ah, but I care. Knowing my daughter I 
choose to consider you a gentleman and to give 
you a gentleman’s chance. I, Monsieur Dalton, 
choose to let you fight me.” 

“ Fight you ?” said I, not exactly understand- 
ing his meaning. 

“Yes, fight me. You see, Monsieur, my 
treatment of you, although deserved, may ap- 
pear rather unusual You term it medieval 


The Countess Bettina. 


1 16 

Now I choose to concede you something, — 
that at least you were born the gentleman and, 
so, if you will, to let you cross swords with 
me in this dispute, — here, — now.” 

I believe I looked at him in dull amazement. 
The proposition, like the whole proceeding, was 
extraordinary, and yet, I saw that it signified 
that Monsieur de Perigord, now knowing me, 
had rather a better opinion of me than before. 

“ Baptiste,” said he, “ the swords.” Baptiste 
as quickly as the good servant who never ques- 
tions, took two swords that were lying across 
the arms of one of the chairs. Monsieur de 
Perigord extended one to me. The other he 
stretched out, — the candlelight gleamed on the 
blade that showed as piercingly as his remarka- 
ble black eyes. He brought the sword into 
position. 

“ One of the absurd modern notions is the 
feeling that duelling is passed. How better can 
equals settle a dispute. How easier can I, — 
although justice compels me to take away your 
liberty, — how easier can I prove to you, Mon- 
sieur, that I hold the Daltons of Sussex my 
equals in blood.” 

Something so fine was there in this old-time 


Several Mediceval Ideas . 


11 7 

gentleman, who brought to the last years of 
the century an old noble’s practices, that, for- 
getting myself, I bowed. 

“ Monsieur de Perigord,” said I, overlooking 
my discomfiture, and all he had done ; “ I in- 
deed have given you — appearances being 
against me — a grievous affront. I cannot 
criticise your methods, — your right to try to 
punish me, and to punish me in such a way as 
to shield your family from scandal. I under- 
stand ; I appreciate your motives.” 

“ To your defence, Monsieur,” said the little 
gentleman, over whom I towered. 

For answer I flung my piece clatteringly onto 
the pavement. 

“ I cannot avail myself of the privilege you 
have given me. I cannot cross swords with 

yy 

you. 

“You know how to fence, Monsieur? It ’s 
an accomplishment they do not cultivate so 
much in these days,” sneered Monsieur de 
Perigord. “ If you prefer pistols ? ” 

“ I have fenced, Monsieur. I can shoot fairly 
well. But I do not choose to do these with 
you. I have hurt you. I can’t, nor will I, 
fight you/’ 


1 1 8 The Countess Bettina . 

“ Monsieur then is a coward/’ screamed the 
little gentleman. 

“ I believe not that, Monsieur ; none of my 
name have been accused of that.” 

Monsieur de Perigord looked me over again. 
Then he handed his weapon back to Baptiste. 

“ At least I have given you a chance.” 

“ I cannot accuse you of lacking that 
generosity.” 

“ I will give you one more. If you will give 
me your word of honor not to try to leave this 
place, I will not keep you shut up here. I will 
let you have the liberty of the park.” 

“ As a prisoner on parole ? ” 

“ As a prisoner, Monsieur.” 

“ If you would trust me so far why then do 
you not restore my liberty, Monsieur. Surely 
a man whose word you would take would not 
gossip.” 

“ I believe you a gentleman,” Monsieur de 
Perigord was good enough to say. And he 
added, “ I will give you your liberty if you will 
promise not to try to see the Countess Bettina. 
I do not believe, it is true, that you again will 
be able to see her, but I do not choose to give 
scandal-mongers the slightest chance. If you 


Several Medieval Ideas . 1 1 9 

will not give me that promise, Monsieur, I 
have no choice, you force me — much as I re- 
gret it — to deprive you of your liberty in- 
definitely.” 

It was an easy matter, and he had said he 
would take my word. He had conceded so 
much and indeed there appeared no reason un- 
der heaven why I should wish to try to see the 
Countess Bettina again. Philip Lazere now 
had the affair in his hands entirely. I could 
not help him further. I only had to give my 
word, and yet, for some reason I could not give 
Monsieur de Perigord that simple enough, “ I 
promise.” And why should it be so ! Because 
I knew all at once that I should not keep the 
promise, because I could not, and yet all this 
undertaking had been in Philip Lazere’s inter- 
est. The absurdity of my position was patent, 
but absurd as it was, — and with all this Count 
de Perigord . had conceded me, after what he 
considered a just grievance, — I was forced to 
answer him, “ I cannot.” 

He regarded me for a moment, looking me 
over critically from head to foot, as a groom 
may a new purchase of his master. “ I like 
you the better for that answer, Monsieur. I 


120 


The Countess Bettina. 


understand Bettina’s action better. But you 
leave me without choice. My word is given to 
the Prince of Este ; I must keep you here until 
after that marriage at least.” 

“ You do me too much honor, Monsieur, the 
Countess Bettina too little,” said I. Why in 
the whole course of that interview had he never 
once mentioned Philip Lazere ? Why had he 
held that the Countess had run away with me ? 

He turned to the door, motioning Baptiste to 
follow. But there he paused, turning back. 

“ Monsieur,” said the Count de Perigord, 
“ now that under these peculiar circumstances I 
have made your acquaintance, may I have the 
pleasure of taking your hand.” 

Very strangely indeed did Monsieur de Peri- 
gord and I then grasp each other’s hands, and 
then, Baptiste following and with the sound of 
the pushing of bolts, I was left alone with the 
sputtering candles in the lower room. So did 
I make the acquaintance of that strange little 
old gentleman, Charles Michel de Benevento, 
Comte de Perigord, Marquis de Francillon in 
Normandy, who in the last years of the nine- 
teenth century preserves intact the nature of 
the old-time Seigneur, and in some cases, such 
as this of mine, actually follows out his precepts. 


CHAPTER X. 


On the Genius of Guido Reni ; the Truth of Lord Byron's 
“ Prisoner of Chillon ” ; and the Uncertainty of Ships on 
the Sea. 

Signor Guido Reni certainly painted his 
“ Aurora ” to gladden those in dark places. I 
came to know more of that painting than any 
critic in the world, I really believe. F or the copy 
on the ceiling of the room, my dungeon, was ex- 
cellent, I ’m sure. Many a time I ’ve lain on 
that bed with nothing else to do and looked at 
that gay lady of the dawn starting on that end- 
less drive to bring gladness and light among 
men ; and watching I came to know why paint- 
ers and poets exist : to relieve the monotony 
that otherwise means despair. To be sure 
Monsieur de Perigord was considerate enough 
to send by his gaoler, Baptiste, a pile of cur- 
rent books. I had a chance to study them all 
from Monsieur de Maupassant to Madame Gyp, 


121 


122 


The Countess Bettina . 


But never a journal was in this collection ; never 
a reference to passing event. Baptiste himself 
never said a word. He came and went three 
times a day, wearing under his blouse a pistol 
and a knife, lest I should try to escape, I sup- 
pose. But escape was hopeless, I began to 
believe. Day came and went. I paced my 
confines for exercise ; a struggling white light 
entered from the apertures above ; sometimes 
a sun ray, or the moonshine, or the sound of 
the wind, or the rain, and the feeling of moist- 
ure, or the chirping or singing of birds. Never 
a human sound save Baptiste’s step ; never a 
word save those in books. Monsieur de Peri- 
gord carried out his threat. He held me as se- 
cure a prisoner as the Doges did their victims 
by the Bridge of Sighs, as was the Man in the 
Iron Mask, as that prisoner by the Swiss Lakes 
whose steps the guide shows you worn restlessly 
into the solid rock, he of whom Lord Byron 
wrote. And the horror, the monotony of it ! 
the wretchedness to one always active to be 
taken suddenly by a terrible inactivity, and the 
terror of one’s own thoughts ! 

I was well fed. The place had a decent 
cook. My comfort was attended to, excepting 


On Guido Reni. 


123 


in this one matter of restraint, of no compan- 
ionship. Never a word said Baptiste. Like a 
mute he did his duty. I talked at him, jeered 
him, pleaded with him, but he said not a word, 
but came and went thrice the day. Have you 
ever been so restrained ; do you know what im- 
prisonment means ? Ah, I know full well, be- 
cause I endured Monsieur de Perigord’s revenge, 
or was it his feeling of the need to keep me out 
of the reach of the Countess Bettina? 

And where was the little Countess ? Was she 
married ? And where Captain His Highness 
the Duke of Vaucluse? And did my man Dor- 
sey still wait my return in Mentone ? Or had 
my obituary been said, while the Fletchers, and 
Daltons, and Duesdales descanted on my vir- 
tues and vices. Who knew? Not I. Day 
was night, and night day. Fancy could meas- 
ure Time’s passage by Baptiste’s regular service, 
I could not be sure. And I grew weak and 
old, — and pined for activity. Change of cloth- 
ing was provided and water enough, or claret 
for dinner. The service was good enough in 
Monsieur de Perigord’s mediaeval hostelry, con- 
sidering the drawbacks to the guest of never 
being suffered to stir from one room. And 


124 


The Countess Bettina. 


what did n’t I think of ? What event in my 
life ? I repeat. 

It was monotony itself, nor can I make long 
narrative, — although I passed there, nearly the 
longest twenty days of my life ; but days when 
nothing happened, when one only could have 
been happy as a Buddhist contemplating Nir- 
vana. A good novel might be made of those 
days by a modern realist. I suggest them to 
one of these gentlemen. But for me, — although 
they make the longest part of my experience 
in the adventure with the Countess Bettina, — I 
can tell no story where there may be no event. 
Unnatural is it for things to stand still. The 
world moves, we all move, the molecules and 
animalcules making us move. To stop is to 
die. Which means, my good sir, that extreme 
realism is dead literature, — better literature 
still-born with never the vitality of action. 

I debated, you may be sure, endless plans of 
getting away. I thought of knocking Baptiste 
on the head and seizing his keys. I never had 
the chance. I tried by piling the chairs on the 
bed to find where I might be, to discover, as I 
looked through one of the openings a stretch 
of roofs, of sky, of tree-tops ; and so was it on 


On Guido Reni. 125 

the other sides. I was somewhere outside of 
Paris. Monsieur de Perigord had mentioned a 
park. This was some old chateau ; I could not 
make out where. Old was the room I was in. 
The Guido of the ceiling was cracked in spots. 
Monsieur de Perigord had much real estate ; 
this was a place of his somewhere in the country. 
But how long was I to stay there? Until my 
body wore out my soul, or my soul my emaciated 
body ? But on the ceiling “ Aurora ” parted 
the clouds. Looking up I hoped sometimes. 

Did the Countess Bettina think of me as 
dead ? Had Philip Lazere, the gallant sailor 
and lover, returned to claim her ? Or did she 
believe me a renegade ? Oh, I wished I knew ! 
I wanted to know. I only had to say the word, 
to tell Baptiste to tell his master, that I prom- 
ised never to see the Countess Bettina, — that I 
would take no steps to prosecute Monsieur for 
this detention, — and I could go as free as a lark. 
But this I did not think once of doing. My 
word could open the prison door. Instead, I 
beat the walls, which were granite. I called 
through the windows ; no one heard. I learned 
afterward sound could not carry through the 
thick walls. 


126 


The Countess Bettina . 


And so days — I knew not how many — 
passed. You cannot count days in such a 
place. I dare say the Bastile was worse. I 
wonder that the French endured the terrible 
place for the decades they did. I wonder that 
the wolves of the Revolution did not rend and 
tear before. 

I do not know how long Monsieur de Peri- 
gord intended to keep me there. He said un- 
til after his daughter’s marriage. I liked to 
think that Bettina perhaps never would marry. 
That notion in some way made the imprison- 
ment the easier to bear. 

“Speak, man!” I screamed at Baptiste. 
“ Speak or I will kill you.” He showed his 
claws, his knife, but not a word. Keep silent 
then. Let me think of all I have done, of the 
gayety I have had. So a dead i^ian, if he knows, 
in the prison of the grave may think of his past. 

One day, — morning, noon, or night, I used 
the candles, of which I had all I wished, — the 
key creaked as usual in the door, which was 
thrown back. I was lying on the bed, reading 
a story of a maniac of Monsieur de Maupas- 
sant’s imagining, — no worse a maniac however 
than I was becoming, — when there came a 


On Guido Reni. 


127 


voice : “ Monsieur.” I stopped, I could not be- 
lieve my ears; a human voice: “Monsieur.” 
I started up, “ Thank God.” 

“ I, Monsieur, Pierre Gallaudet. Quick, I 
have stolen Baptiste’s key. Quick, the door is 
open.” 

I jumped to the dirty fellow, and pressed 
him to my breast. 

“Oh, Pierre Gallaudet, to think God would 
have sent one of his angels in the guise of a 
cocker from Mentone.” 

“ Alas, Monsieur, I ’m no angel. I ’m nearer 
the Devil. But hurry, before he wakes.” 

I sprang after him down the winding stair, 
through the room below into the open air, 
where it was night and raining, the wet on my 
face, the blessed air intoxicating me. Pierre 
Gallaudet led through a tangled thicket, it 
seemed for a quarter mile, to a little gate in a 
high wall, into a road. The road was on a hill- 
side. Far away were the lights of Paris. In- 
stantly I knew I was on the hills back from Saint 
Cloud. I had ridden by that very gate once, 
years before, when a boy I had cantered of a 
morning through the Bois to Saint Cloud and 
over the hills beyond. 


128 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ There ’s no further danger,” said Pierre 
Gallaudet closing the gate. “ Only Baptiste 
and I were there with you.” 

“ And you — ” 

“ I, Monsieur, God forgive me, returned to 
Mentone and told Monseigneur that you were 
at a hotel in Paris called the Meurice.” 

“ You rascal ! ” 

“ I acknowledge it, Monsieur, I am one. 
Monseigneur took me into his service. When 
he brought you here, he told me, as you told 
me, that I should receive good pay. If I be- 
trayed him he would put me in prison.” 

“ Ah, you thought you would get better pay 
from me by freeing me.” 

“ Not I, believe me, Monsieur. The thought 
of you being there made me crazy. It was 
lonely. Finally, — you know it, Monsieur, — I 
stole Baptiste’s key, and freed you.” 

“ Come,” said I, walking down the hill tow- 
ard Saint Cloud. My muscles were stiff ; I was 
like a man who is but over a run of fever. But 
the air gave me heart and strength. 

“ Pierre,” said I, “ you ’re as faithless a rascal 
as I ever have seen.” 

“Yes, Monsieur,” 


On Guido Reni . 


1 29 

“ And yet, I believe I owe you more good 
than evil.” 

“ Will you take me into your service, Mon- 
sieur? If you do not I shall be afraid of Mon- 
seigneur, and the police.” 

“You are in my service now,” said I, strid- 
ing down the hill, even merrily. In Saint 
Cloud we found a train starting. I borrowed 
the money of Pierre for the fare. The people 
in the compartment — there were three — looked 
at me curiously. I must have appeared like 
an escaped lunatic. At the Gare L’Ouest I 
took a cab to Da Vinne’s lodging. The clocks 
showed it two in the morning, of what day I 
could not guess. 

At Da Vinne’s t-he concierge , waked after 
long ringing, peered out at us. 

“ Monsieur Da Vinne ? I will go up to his 
room.” 

The fellow recognized my voice. 

“ A ghost ! ” he cried. 

“ Yes, a ghost.” 

“ But we heard you were dead.” 

“ I have come to life. Ghosts do not make 
conversation, do they ? Let me in.” 

“ Not that I have heard of, Monsieur. Mon- 
9 


The Countess Bettina. 


130 

sieur Da Vinne has not returned. I ’ll call his 
servant.” 

After a time steps came hurriedly over the 
court. A voice called — Dorsey’s. He was glad 
to see me, I believe ; seized my hand, looked 
into my eyes. He indeed had been with me 
long. 

“ I thought you dead, sir ! ” 

“ I thought you in Mentone.” 

“ I waited for you there two weeks, then re- 
ported to Mr. Da Vinne. He has kept me 
here since.” 

“ Let me come in, Dorsey, and for Heaven’s 
sake some whiskey.” 

“Yes, sir, and this fellow? — ” indicating 
Pierre. 

“ He is one of my servants. Bring him 
along.” 

I believe I was crazy for a minute as I lay 
stretched out on the couch in Da Vinne’s room ; 
then I heard his step, and he entered, looking 
rather fagged, as I thought, and I noticed sud- 
denly he wore mourning. 

“ Jack,” said he, “ Jack Dalton, where ’ve you 
been ? Gad, you look terribly, as if you had 
been in a madhouse.” 


On Guido Reni. i 3 i 

“ I have been,” said I. “ I have been.” 

“ When half the detectives from Scotland 
Yard have been scouring the world for you.” 

“ What did they want me for ? ” 

“ The title dies out without you. They 
wanted at least to prove your death.” 

“ Hang my death ! I ’m alive now.” 

“ Of course you are alive. But where have 
you been ? ” 

I started to explain. Suddenly I thought 
of the Countess Bettina. This was her affair. 
I could not involve her, not for a minute. 

“ I ’ve been having a terrible experience. 
Here, Dorsey, some more of that whiskey.” 

“ You can’t tell, eh ? ” 

“ No, I can’t. I would if I could.” 

He looked at me keenly. “ Why, Jack, I ’m 
not a woman ; as you wish, it ’s just interest in 
you. I suppose that affair has broken you up.” 

“ What affair? ” 

“ Don’t you know? Where have you been ? ” 

“ Out of the world. I have n’t seen a paper ” 
(I picked up a Figaro from the table, noting the 
date) “ gad, in twenty days.” 

“ You don’t mean it ? You don’t know ? ” 

“ How should I know ? What ’s happened ? ” 


1 3 ? The Co7intess Bettina. 

“ Well, I ’ll be hanged,” said Da Vinne. “ I 
believe you have been in a madhouse some- 
where. On June the eleventh the Dorcas — ” 

“ The Dorcas , yes ? ” 

“ Duesdale’s Dorcas ran on the Needles ; not 
a soul was saved.” 

“And where was Duesdale?” asked I, in a 
sort of stupor. 

“ Duesdale, Tom Thornton, and his boy, and 
Jim— my dear brother — do you see I ’m in 
mourning — were on the Dorcas ,” said Da Vinne, 
brushing his eyes. 

“ Great God, Da Vinne !” 

“ Brace up, Jack. It ’s hard, I know, although 
you never were thick Avith them. But it means 
that you are Lord 'Duesdale, that the Sussex 
property with the title has come again to the 
Daltons.” He paused for a moment. “ But 
it ’s tough on me. I loved that old chap, Jim. 
Gad, Jack, to think I never can hear his voice 
again. And when you disappeared, too, I be- 
lieve I wanted to die.” 

“ Tom,” said I, after a moment, — for it took 
me a moment to realize all this, — “Tom Da 
Vinne, I loved Jim too, almost as a brother. 
It ’s my loss, too.” 


On Guido Reni. 


133 

“ I know, Jack, how you feel. I wish you 
did n’t look so horribly.” 

“ I feel horribly. I ’ve been through a horri- 
ble experience. I ’ve been in the middle ages, 
I believe.” 

“ I wonder if you may be out of your head ? ” 

“ I ’m not surprised at your question. I half 
believe I am. Tom, I want to know one thing. 
Did Mademoiselle de Perigord marry the Prince 
of Este the twenty-seventh? ” 

“ Do you know Mademoiselle de Perigord ? 
I do know it ’s postponed until October.” 

“ Something was accomplished after all,” I 
cried. 

“ What ’s that, Jack? ” 

‘‘Another question. Is the Duke of Vau- 
cluse in Paris? ” 

“Yes, I saw him to-night; just back from 
Asia, I believe. He ’s at the Count Von 
Hohenstein’s hotel on the Avenue du Bois de 
Boulogne.” 

“ Dorsey,” I called. “ A cab.” 

“ Gad, man, you are crazy. I don’t wonder, — 
at all these things. Where the devil, looking 
as you do, are you going at this hour of the 
morning? ” 


134 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ It may appear crazy, but I shall be crazier 
if I don’t see the Duke within an hour.” 

“ But, Jack.” 

“ Forgive me, Tom. But I must. I ’ll take 
Dorsey, if you ’ll let me.” 

“ If you will, you will, I know, but I wish I 
knew what ’s the matter with you.” 

He followed me to the cab, telling Dorsey 
to look after me. I would not let Tom go. I 
had disturbed him enough. 

At the Count Von Hohenstein’s I sent in 
a note : “ A matter of great importance leads 
Mr. John Fletcher Dalton, possibly not un- 
known to your Highness, to ask an immediate 
audience. The Count Von Hohenstein knows 
me, and that I would not disturb you unneces- 
sarily.” 

I told Dorsey to wake the concierge , to insist 
on the Duke being waked, and to see that the 
note reached him. And I knew he would do 
exactly as I told him. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Proving the Truth of the Prince in the Fairy-Tale. 

When the good King George Fourth, Mr. 
Thackeray’s hero in the lecture, was scandaliz- 
ing certain people in the Counties, his admiral 
(one of the first of English captains that ac- 
cepted authority, Captain Mahan concedes), 
the great Earl of Duesdale was writing from 
somewhere along the Peninsula coast that his 
“ second son Jack was the kind of youngster to 
make a man proud, and Bonaparte fearful, for 
he was of the stuff that had made the Dues- 
dales, and English naval history.” That young 
gentleman was my grandfather, Captain the 
Honorable John Thornton Dalton. When 
Lord Duesdale was dying, it was not of his 
heir, but of this son he thought — as is the way 
of paternal fondness — of this second son, who 
now had disgraced him. For my grandfather, 
on account of a certain scandalous escapade, 
had been deprived of his commission ; had been 
i35 


136 


The Countess Betlina. 


too cowardly to bear the stain on his honor in 
England, and had gone to America, where he 
obtained his son, another John Dalton, an ap- 
pointment to Annapolis. My father’s excellent 
record in the American Rebellion is a matter of 
history. I believe it was my mother’s wish, 
she was Belinda Fletcher of County Salop, that 
I should follow the tradition of the Daltons 
and enter the British Navy. But my father 
remembered his father’s disgrace there ; was 
perhaps proud of the Republic he had served 
himself gallantly, and I, too, was educated at 
Annapolis. And here comes the dark part of my 
own history, the sin of my father’s father being 
visited on him in his own son. The great Earl 
never suffered more from his son’s fault than 
my father from mine. I will not go into details 
of that affair in Hong Kong, which dismissed 
me, disgracefully, from the American service, 
broke my father’s and mother’s hearts, brought 
me to England, where both the Fletchers and 
my cousin Duesdale, used their influence to 
obtain me a position in the Foreign Office. 
And now, by the strangest accident— the wreck 
of the Dorcas , — I, who had done so badly with 
the Dalton name, had became Duesdale. 


In the Fairy- Tale. 


137 


Sitting there that morning before Count Von 
Hohenstein’s door, in that still hour just before 
the dawn, the whole face of the matter sickened 
me. If only my father and mother might have 
known ; if only Duesdale, who was not so bad 
a fellow, and Tom Thornton, and his son, and 
dear Jim Da Vinne might have lived. 

Now this, I confess, is my matter, and so has 
no particular bearing on the narrative, and yet 
I have put it here to explain how it happened 
I was an American born, and how much had 
been in my fortunes during the last twenty 
days ; and to show how important I indeed 
held the matters of the Countess Bettina and 
of the Duke of Vaucluse, by not first attending 
to my own affairs, as indeed decency demanded, 
but by making immediate inquiry how ran 
their adventure in which I had become entan- 
gled to my personal cost. I must see that 
Philip Lazere acted ; the manner of man he 
was, — that very hour and moment. 

From a farther door of the room entered the 
gentleman about whom I had heard and con- 
jectured so much, a dressing-gown hastily 
thrown on. 

“ I have heard of you, Mr. Dalton, and be- 


138 The Countess Bettina. 

lieve me, I am glad to meet you, even at this 
hour, — Lord Duesdale, I should say, for I have 
been told of the unfortunate Dorcas. Allow 
me to tell you how much I sympathize.” 

Philip Lazere is in complexion and appear- 
ance my exact antithesis, dark where I am fair. 
If it were not that he were rather slighter than 
I, we indeed might be brothers, one carrying 
the ancestral fair traits, the other the dark. 
Now the sailor Duke’s face was bronzed by the 
sea to a greater degree of clear olive brown 
than was ordinarily his. In this early morning, 
just waked as he had been, he preserved a 
charming agreeableness, although his face 
looked the least careworn. I was certain all at 
once that the Countess Bettina was right, and 
that the little message she had sent him had 
brought him, despite his duties and career, 
over the seas to serve her. I had heard others 
talk of his daring, his impulsiveness, his clever- 
ness, his devotion to a friend, and my heart 
went out to him ; and I was glad for all I had 
done and suffered, because, in this world where 
people make such queer choices, the Countess 
Bettina’s seemed to me to be sensible. 

“ I have heard of the service you did my 


In the Fairy - Tale. 


139 


cousin, from her letters, and believe me, sir, 
you have put me under a lasting debt.” 

“ And you have seen the Countess Bettina? ” 
“ Ah, no. I have been off the sea three days. 
My cousin is not here, but in Perigord, in a 
convent.” 

“ In a convent ? ” 

“ Detained in a convent, I believe, my dear 
Lord Duesdale. Monsieur de Perigord does 
not trust his daughter — ” 

“ But he was not able to effect the marriage 
with Este on the twenty-seventh.” 

“Your effort brought about that postpone- 
ment,” said the Duke. “ The truth is, the 
Countess Bettina would not be married, and — ” 
“ And your Highness? ” 

“And,” said Philip Lazere, as if he were ut- 
tering a commonplace, as if he were in the old 
days when the knight dared everything, “ I am 
going to-morrow to Perigord after my cousin. 
I have not, believe me, thrown up my career, 
and crossed the seas, to have Monsieur de Peri- 
gord thwart me.” 

“ Monsieur de Perigord is a gentleman who 
does not hesitate at means,” said I. 

“You know my cousin, then ? ” said the Duke. 


140 


The Countess Belt in a. 


“ Only too well, Monseigneur ; I am just from 
his prison.” 

“ His prison ? ” 

“ Your cousin, your Highness, has a fine 
notion of taking his own revenge for affronts. 
For the purpose of his private punishments 
he has among the hills back from Saint Cloud 
a certain private prison, as other gentlemen 
may have a stable. He has kept me there for 
twenty days in one room. I should be there 
at this moment if it were not that a certain 
rascal — one of Monsieur’s servants — repented, 
or perhaps hoped for greater pay from me than 
from his master.” 

“ The Countess Bettina wrote me you had 
deserted her.” 

“ Yes, so she was made to believe.” 

“ So, Monsieur de Perigord persuaded her to 
leave your friend’s, Madame Girondier’s,” said 
the Duke. “ How long ago was this ? ” 

“ I have been out of that prison, I believe, 
three hours.” 

“ Duesdale,” said the Duke, “ taking my 
hand, “ the assurance is poor enough, but I 
like you ; I thank you ; I wish I might say 
more. How could a man help liking him who 


In the Fairy-Tale, 141 

had done him the greatest service. If you 
had not prevented the marriage, my chance of 
gaining the Countess Bettina would have been 
nothing.” 

And was I for the moment sorry ? I shook 
the feeling away ; for her happiness was it in- 
deed ; and this tall, tanned prince, who looked 
his part, took away my misgiving. 

“ I believe I helped the Countess accomplish 
so much, although now, appearances being much 
against me, she cannot believe but I left her.” 

“ I thought, too, you might have left her, 
believing you could do no more. My grati- 
tude to you was none the less, believe me. 
And now' — you have done so much, — jaded as 
you are, — I am tempted to ask more of you, — 
that you accompany me to Perigord.” 

“To Perigord, Monseigneur?” 

“ To Monsieur de Perigord’s own little feudal 
land, to take away his daughter, whether he will 
or no ; for you, my dear Lord Duesdale, to run 
away a second time with my cousin, acting 
again as my friend, but with me.” 

“Your Highness,” said I, in that pale morn- 
ing light, not indeed quits grasping his full 
intention, 


142 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ I ask much of you. But I want in this 
matter a friend, not a servant, on whom abso- 
lute dependence can be put. Who knows of 
this but you ? Who could serve us better ? 
Who likes my cousin, or will my cousin again 
trust more? And who, finally, has his own 
reasons for disliking, and wishing to outwit my 
clever cousin, Monsieur de Perigord ? Ah, you, 
my friend, — no one, but you.” 

He took my hand, again pressing it. 

“ I am glad you came here directly, — that 
you never waited, and I ask you at five to- 
night to take the train for Strasburg. We shall 
ride from Strasburg over the border into Peri- 
gord.” 

“ How many of you ? ” 

“ I shall take two servants, men I have tried.” 

“ And your purpose, your Highness ? ” 

“To go quietly to the convent on the moun- 
tains back from Peribourgand to get the Count- 
ess Bettina out ; to bring her over the border.” 

“ And my servant ? ” 

“And the fellow who freed you. You can 
trust a fellow like that.” 

“Can you?” I reflected, “Ah, can you?” 
and I was thinking too of my answer, “ We 


143 


In the Fairy- Tale. 

might risk the fellow, I believe ; having begun 
desperate enterprises, possibly he has become 
schooled.” I remembered Pierre Gallaudet’s 
look of devotion as I had left him at Da 
Vinne’s. 

“ And you then have decided, Lord Dues- 
dale? ” 

Ah, I was not sure. My own affairs certainly 
called me to England. And really, had I not 
been hurt sufficiently by my entanglement in 
these people’s affairs. In all common-sense 
that was certain. And yet I did not act with 
common-sense. I indeed never have, as you 
know by this time. Enough people are sensi- 
ble to allow some of us the privilege of being 
deplorably deficient in that particular, and for 
all I had experienced the whole romantic as- 
pect of the affair still beckoned. How unusual 
it all was in this humdrum world. How few 
gentlemen would throw up a career for a lady’s 
summons. And Philip Lazere had done that. 
Now all alone he proposed to carry away his 
cousin, as one of his ancestors might have done 
three hundred years ago. He did not hesi- 
tate. He simply told me what he intended 
to do with the assured air of being able to. 


144 


The Countess Bettina. 


And he had asked me to aid him, because I 
already had been in the adventure, and he knew 
he could trust me, and then, as I considered, 
another reason presented itself, and that was 
the Countess Bettina’s captivity. I thought of 
her shut up somewhere among the mountains 
of Perigord, with no faith in me, — because I 
had deserted, — with faith in her cousin’s ap- 
pearance. I wanted her to have faith in me — 
that faith she had given me so impulsively in 
Mentone. I must have that back. I must see 
that she was not kept shut up there in Perigord. 
And so, despite all I had undergone, and might 
still undergo, — despite my own obligations to 
go t© England — I told the Duke I would ac- 
company him in this quixotic attempt to carry 
away the Countess Bettina. 

If later that day I regretted this decision, 
yet later I was glad of it, when I called on 
Madame Girondier — who had thought me dead 
— and who cried over me ; and who told how 
the Countess Bettina had kept faith in me 
against the evidence of my silence ; and how 
one day the Count de Perigord appeared, and 
how he had persuaded his daughter to drive 
with him — she sfr'll declaring she should not 


In the Fairy- Tale . 


l 45 


stir away until I returned, or until her cousin 
Philip Lazere should appear ; and how the 
Count and his daughter did not return to the 
Avenue de l’Alma. 

“ A servant,” said Madame, “ brought me 
that evening a note from the Count stating 
he had persuaded his daughter to accompany 
him to Perigord. Enclosed were a thousand 
francs in notes. — Monsieur’s acknowledgment 
of his indebtedness to me. That I returned to 
him, Jack, telling him I did not rent lodgings.” 

And how indeed had he discovered the hiding 
place? I could not conjecture. The story but 
made me now the more eager to thwart him. 

When I told Da Vinne that I was going away 
without first attending to my affairs, he thought 
me mad indeed. “Jack, I can’t understand.” 

“ Ah, my dear fellow,” I cried, “ how readily 
I would explain if it were only my affair. But 
while it is not mine, it is so hopeless an one — 
involves so much the happiness of two people 
I now like, — that I must undertake it — what- 
ever the consequence.” 

He looked at me quizzically. “You’re still 
tilting at windmills, and you ’ll keep it up, I 
believe, to the end of the chapter. And, Jack, 


146 


The Countess Bettina. 


I like it in you — impractical as you may be. I 
like it because I see it in so few other men.” 

At this I laughed. His devotion is so blind 
that he sees that in me no one else could ; such 
being the rare quality of good friendship which 
makes of this world a finer, better place. 


CHAPTER XII. 


How the Duke of Vaucluse went to Perigord. 


The dawn was gilding Strasburg Minster 
when the Duke, I, and his man Franz, a groom, 
and Pierre Gallaudet rode out of Strasburg. 
I do not believe many persons would have 
taken Pierre after my experience of his treach- 
ery. But as the Duke had said, self-interest 
now might keep him faithful, since he knew I 
had evidence to convict him of felony. I had 
seen his venal cleverness both in the extortion 
of pour-boires and afterward in my betrayal. 
Yet his pity had been aroused by my captivity ; 
the very fellow who had proven himself the 
most corrupt had been led to free me. Hope- 
less of reward, he voluntarily had run a risk 
both from me, the Count, and the authorities. 
From my experience with men, I believed that 
this very fact would make him now my good 
servant. For an expedition like ours, it was 


*47 


148 


The Countess Bettina . 


necessary to have men who would hesitate at 
nothing. Pierre now was a desperate character. 
He had violated the law. He would gain 
nothing by again betraying me. Nor did I count 
the least important in this course of reasoning, 
a certain look in his eyes, such as a dog gives a 
master, in which, knowing the nature of such 
fellows, I read strong devotion to myself. I 
have seen in my experience about the world, 
the most surprising fidelity to a master or a 
friend from arrant knaves with apparently no 
other redeeming trait. 

Franz, the Duke’s man, was the faithful valet 
who, brought up with his master, had been with 
him always. The groom, a Vauclusian too, 
was a simple peasant, with the sense of fealty 
to his lord, which left no question at any of 
that lord’s actions. Dorsey, as long as he had 
served me, I did not dare take. I believe I 
wronged him. Yet the enterprise was one 
where all involved might find a prison or the 
gaol. I liked him too well perhaps to involve 
him. Pierre had nothing to lose. 

Abduction and robbery may have been simple 
enough pastimes for gentlemen in our fathers’ 
time, In ours, law has strengthened. The 


149 


To Perigord. 

rights of the many are everywhere respected, 
and are not to be violated or outraged. The 
successful knave now does his knavery by 
studying the law and cunningly admitting its 
strict letter. 

But this was an open, violent insult to the 
law. The Duke, an officer of the German 
Empire, was undertaking nothing less than the 
abduction of the daughter of one of the most 
powerful nobles in that Empire. I, indeed, 
did not consider at first how far we should suf- 
fer if the expedition should fail. But for the 
Duke failure or success might signify nothing 
less than disgraceful dismissal from the Em- 
peror’s service. For our servants, for me, was 
certain imprisonment. Nor did my experience 
suffer me to underestimate the possibilities of 
the Count of Perigord’s own action. We were 
venturing into a principality where he was al- 
most an autocrat. His great wealth permitted 
the employment of a small army of servants, 
whom he kept well disciplined. Amenable to 
German laws as he was, yet he was in a certain 
sense superior to them, as every official in Peri- 
gord held position and existed through his 
favor. 


The Countess Bettina. 


150 

I have run over the character of our under- 
taking, that its perils may not be underesti- 
mated. It was in the last of the nineteenth 
century such an expedition as a Venetian or 
Florentine noble might have made on a neigh- 
bor three centuries ago ; such as Mary Stuart, 
trying to preserve order in her unruly kingdom, 
warned her lords against ; like that of D’Arta- 
ghan in Dumas’ story perilously venturing to 
London to outwit a woman. 

On the border of Perigord, in the late after- 
noon, we stopped to consider dividing our car- 
avan. We had six horses all told, one carrying 
a side-saddle. To the curious on the road we 
told Franz to say that we were English horse- 
dealers bringing some South country hunters 
to show the groom of the Count of Perigord’s 
stables. While that story had served so far to 
keep rural interest from a too bothersome 
curiosity, we were not sure that it would serve 
longer. We told Franz to take two horses, the 
groom leading the one with the side-saddle to 
the Red Fox (the crest of the Counts of Peri- 
gord) on the Haut-Perigord highway about 
two miles below the Convent of the Sisters 
of Saint Francis. 


To Perigord, 1 5 1 

There he was to await our instructions. He 
knew the country perfectly, and would do 
our bidding exactly. The groom, not under- 
standing a word of any tongue except Vauclu- 
sian, could be trusted not to tattle. 

Separating at the forks of the road, we took 
the one to the right with Pierre Gallaudet. 
The spot is a narrow opening between two hills, 
each surmounted by ruined fortresses belonging 
to the old days when the Counts of Perigord 
held their territory with the strong hand against 
all. The border is marked by a mountain 
stream. Here sat a man on a horse, a signal 
sentinel, in the green and crimson of Perigord. 
He regarded us sleepily, but made no motion, 
as indeed the mounted police are only parts of 
the Count’s secret belief that he is still the 
absolute ruler of Perigord. And so without 
molestation we rode into the little mountain 
land, and through the thick forest where occa- 
sionally we passed a forester, or saw a deer 
drinking in the stream. The broad road, dating 
from Roman times, became steeper, the moun- 
tains, some snow capped, higher. We were 
high on the mountain-side, while low in the 
valley were several manufacturing villages which 


152 The Countess Bettina . 

exist because of the deposits of coal these 
mountains hold. In this valley were the rail- 
road, the bustle of traffic, and the way Franz 
and the groom now followed. Our road turns 
sharply from the valley, through a narrow pass, 
into the broad plateau of Haut Perigord, where 
surrounded by inaccessible mountains and on 
the shore of the Lake of the Sky (to translate 
the title, because this clear body of water is a 
most perfect mirror to a sky of exquisite blue) 
— where is the old-time village of Peribourg, 
with its single street along the lake front, and 
the castle, restored by the present Count. 

But we were not bound for Peribourg, and 
so bearing away at the first turn to the left be- 
yond the ravine we plunged again into the for- 
est, our horses now showing the effect of the 
fifty mile ride. The Duke’s notion was that 
we should excite less comment by riding our 
horses over the border, while we might know 
better the way back when we should return 
with all the need of caution. The road we 
were now following bends back into the moun- 
tains, among the pines which replace the oaks 
of the lower slopes. Since leaving the border 
we had passed few persons excepting peasants, 


To Perigord. 


153 


some bicyclers, and pedestrians, who showed 
their English or German traits in their make- 
up. The road turning suddenly bears again in 
view of the valley, and I saw the lake two hun- 
dred feet below into which I could have tossed 
a stone. A stone wall, as old as Caesar the Duke 
said, protects the way. But he had stopped, 
pointing to a great -mass hanging on a cliff’s 
edge, rather a fortress than a house of peace. 

For this was the Convent of the Sisters of 
Saint Francis, preserving the appearance of the 
other time when the convent held that imme- 
diate region tributary. And there was the 
Countess Bettina. 

A hundred feet below the mountain-side is 
the village which was called Fiesole by a Mother 
Superior of the Order, who was a daughter of 
the house of Medicii. Turning from the main 
road up the slope we directly were in the hilly 
street of the village, pausing before a little inn 
where stood a large woman, her arms akimbo. 
She came towards us, smiling as is the way 
of her kind the world over. Along the rim of 
the range opposite the sun was sinking. By 
this time, we calculated, Franz with the horses 
was at the Red Fox which is on the main 


i54 


The Countess Bettina. 


road two miles farther where it descends to 
the lake, bending along the shore through the 
town of Peribourg. The Duke was looking 
up to the convent, wondering if the Countess 
indeed were there. The sun gilded the golden 
horse over the tavern window. The woman 
curtesied, not unaccustomed to tourists in that 
picturesque land. A strong wind blowing up 
from the lake swung the horse to and fro. Its 
vivid gold suddenly dulled as the sun’s rim was 
lost over the irregular horizon. 

The landlady called to her servant to take 
the horses. 

“ How delightful a spot for some days ! ” 
said the Duke in the Perigord dialect which is 
a French patois. 

“ Many think so. I have visitors, although 
now as it happens there is only one, an English 
artist.” 

We saw this person, a clever-faced stroller in 
knickerbockers, quite alone, who talked on the 
beauty of the place. 

“ It ’s so quaint, so much of the old world 
about this whole land. I could believe any- 
thing happening, all kinds of impracticable 
adventures.” 


To Perigord. 155 

“ Anything is quite possible in such a place,” 
smiled the Duke. 

My countryman nodded quizzically, wonder- 
ing, perhaps, at him who anywhere seemed some 
great person. 

“But Bettina? How shall I begin?” the 
Duke asked, as we left our acquaintance. 

“ Ask for her. They ’ll not refuse,” I said. 

“ Why not ? You are right ; the part of bold- 
ness is that of the least suspicion.” 

We were on the terrace over our coffee, look- 
ing out onto the lake and the mountains, and 
up to the darkening outline of the convent. 

“ I will say simply I am her cousin ; I have 
the right to ask. If they will not let her go, I 
will take her away, not a hard thing to do when 
they do not expect it at all. I suppose the 
Count is down there in Peribourg. What if 
he should come riding past at this moment ? ” 

“ If — ” I began, and then I paused. A 
peasant girl was passing up the street toward 
the convent. 

“ I have a clue,” said I, leaving the Duke. 

“ Do you see the girl ? ” I called back to 
him. 

“Yes.” 


The Countess Bettina . 


156 

“ The Countess is in the convent, for the girl 
is her maid, Annette.” 

“ Wait, I will speak to her,” he cried. 

“ Let me. She will remember me.” 

He assented, pushing me on. 

“ She ’ll be in the convent if you don’t hurry.” 

At this I ran up the narrow street. 

“Annette ! ” said I, overtaking her. 

“ Monsieur,” she cried. 

“ The Countess’s friend in Mentone,” I ex- 
plained. 

“ I know you, Monsieur ; I can’t forget ; nor 
that you left my mistress alone ” 

“ I could not help it. The Count kept me 
prisoner.” 

“ I will tell the Countess.” 

“ And tell her to expect another, the cousin 
she wished.” 

I dropped a coin, knowing its efficiency. 
Annette curtesied. 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 

And she was gone up the slope to the con- 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A Brace of Pistols. 

We wondered if she would return. I thought 
it better to wait before the Duke should at- 
tempt the bolder way of asking for his cousin 
at the convent gate. The meantime the possi- 
bility of carrying out any plan that night every 
moment was becoming less. We strolled up 
the long street toward the convent. The peo- 
ple stared curiously, seated on their doorsteps. 
The grass looked up shyly between the round 
staves of the paving. At the doors men sat 
placidly smoking. The bell of the convent 
clock came pealing over our heads. A quiet- 
faced priest passed us, his arms crossed, — his 
face sad, thinking over his duties perhaps. 

“ Nine ! They ’ll all be asleep. Where is 
that Annette of Bettina’s?” 

And just then I saw her, coming lightly down 
the slope. 


i57 


158 The Countess Bettina. 

“ The Countess? ” questioned the Duke. 

“ Knows Monseigneur’s presence.” 

“ Would it be safe for me to call on her?” 

“ Not at all, Monseigneur ; but to-morrow 
morning at three, just before dawn, her High- 
ness and I will join you. So her Highness told 
me.” 

She handed him a note which he read in the 
shadow of a wall by the help of a little wax 
taper. 

“ They will not let her stir, Duesdale ; poor 
little girl. Every motion is watched. Her in- 
discretion in running away from Mentone with 
you is the reason. You see she has been so 
obstinate about this marriage with Este, which 
the Count will not give up, that they take this 
means of bringing her to terms. They are 
afraid she will run again. Are you sure about 
being able to get away to-night?” he asked, 
turning to the girl. 

“ May the Virgin forgive us for conspiring 
against the good sisters, but I think I know a 
way, Monseigneur.” 

“ And that ? ” 

“ Sister Ursula, the doorkeeper, is a good 
friend.” 


A Brace of Pistols . 


159 


“ Yes?” 

“ I will go into her room to borrow a needle 
after she is in bed. She will only grunt when 
she hears me, and tell me to look in her basket. 
When I take the needle from the cushion, I 
shall take the keys. She never will hear.” 

“ And then ? ” 

“All is quiet just before dawn. Her High- 
ness and I easily can get into the street undis- 
covered.” 

“And the horses at the Red Fox, Jack?” 
said he, turning to me. 

“ All the brutes are fagged. But at three in 
the morning they will be freshened.” 

“ We must get word to Franz. Neither you 
nor Pierre know the road. I will walk there.” 

“ We will go together.” 

“ They will wonder why I don't return,” 
Annette said. 

“ Say to the Countess Bettina, her cousin and 
her friend here,” — his hand on my shoulder, — 
“ will not fail her.” 

“ I shall say so much, Monseigneur,” said the 
girl. “ We will be outside the gate at three.” 

“ And we, tell the Countess.” 

She was gone up the slope while we turned 


i6o 


The Countess Bettina. 


down to the inn. We told the landlady we 
wished our horses fed and ready, as we in- 
tended starting, at three in the morning. She 
stared at the unusual hour. “You see we shall 
have fifty miles to cover,” said my friend truly. 
Pierre grumbled a bit at the prospect of being 
in the saddle so early after a long ride. 

“You must be wakeful, my man.” 

“ Pardon me, Monsieur, I will be,” said he, 
changing his tone at once. 

Then, having made our preparations there, 
we started down the road to the Red Fox Inn 
on the lake bank where Franz and the remain- 
ing horses should be, awaiting our order. 

The road wound among vineyards ; now tow- 
ard the lake front. I believe we said one 
word, our minds being so fixed on our plan 
that we did not feel even fatigue from the long 
day’s journey : 

“ Listen.” 

Leaning over the wall lining the road here, 
we heard the notes of a Perigordese song, 
a soprano, borne through the stillness from 
the water. The Lake of the Sky held in its 
bosom the stars sparkling, the darkish blueness 
of the July heavens. And now, it seemed as if 


A Brace of Pistols . 1 6 1 

all this beauty suddenly had expression in the 
singer s notes. Behind were the slopes whence 
we came, and against the sky, the towers of the 
Convent of the Sisters of Saint Francis. We 
both, I think, were taken with the sentimental 
grace of the scene. It was only for a moment. 
Our errand asked haste. We wished to return 
to the Golden Horse in time to snatch an hour’s 
sleep.- A mile from this turn the inn, with the 
Red Fox of the Counts of Perigord, overhangs 
the lake. In that part of the little state are no 
railroads, and the Red Fox preserves all the 
air of the inns of the old days when trade and 
travellers followed the highways. About fifteen 
miles from Peribourg and the same distance 
from the border it has a considerable patron- 
age, and to-night benches and tables scattered 
about the grounds and the inn parlor were 
crowded with persons who watched curiously 
the two pedestrians, while the way in front 
was lined with peasants’ carts, and several car- 
riages of a better class. Talking to a groom 
near a victoria where, horses were being wa- 
tered, stood our Franz. Seeing us he came 
forward, touching his hat. 

“ You had no trouble ? ” asked the Duke, 


162 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ None until here, your Highness. That 
fellow, — do you notice, — the one I was speak- 
ing to. You can’t see here the crest on the 
harness, but it ’s that of the Monseigneur the 
Prince of Este.” 

“ Is he here ? ” 

“ At the inn door now. The man is curious 
to know why I ’m here.” 

“ Tell him it suits you.” 

“ I could say that easily, since it suits me 
to be where your Highness directs. But, my 
Lord, — he has recognized you. Watch him 
stare. I could wring his neck.” 

“Ah, that was unavoidable on the public 
highway, Franz. We have courted recognition 
and found it. So that is my cousin Este in 
the doorway. I can’t make him out in this 
light.” 

“ None other, my Lord.” 

“How did the beasts stand the journey? 
Are they rubbed down, fed, and watered ? ” 

“ They ’ll be fresh by dawn.” 

“ You must have them out by half after two, 
leading them to the little square in the village.” 

“ The one with the cracked image that spouts 
water from its mouth?” 


A Brace of Pistols . 163 

“The place, Franz. You must not be ob- 
served.” 

“Trust me, my Lord. But the fool has told 
his master.” 

He indicated the groom who was speaking 
to the man in the door, who now came out to- 
ward us. 

“ A pleasure trip, Cousin ? ” said a well bred, 
sneering voice. 

The Prince of Este is a short man, but 
with a certain breadth of shoulders, and force 
of carriage, showing his great strength. His 
face dark and handsome is covered by a closely 
clipped beard. He always is dressed carefully, 
but what is repugnant to our British taste, his 
hands are loaded with precious stones. He 
now had a little stick in his hand as he 
walked down to his carriage, where we were 
expectant. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure,” he went 
on. “ We had heard you were back from Asia. 
We did not know, the Count and I, that we 
were to have the pleasure of a visit here in 
Perigord.” 

“ Pleasures sometimes favor us unsought.” 

“ Even unwished, Cousin Lazere.” 


164 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ I believe I am taking a liberty in walking 
through this country.” 

“ It depends on how you may define lib- 
erty,” said Este, “ which sometimes is rendered 
license. I know, Cousin, you have a precious 
lot of impudence in interfering with other 
people’s affairs.” 

“I shall not lose my temper, Cousin. I con- 
fess the fault.” 

The other directly lost his. 

“ And, Insolence, what right have you to 
bother my cousin Betty, to fill her head with 
notions ? ” 

“Ah, with notions, Este?” 

“ So that she courts scandal, and runs away, 
like a girl in a novel, or in a milliner’s. I tell 
you, man, I ’ve an account to settle with you. 
I believe you ’re here this moment to make us 
trouble.” 

Lazere took a cigarette from his case 
which he extended to his cousin. “Ah, so I 

yy 

am. 

The other stared for a moment, and then in 
a sudden passion brought his flat hand on to 
his cousin’s face. Lazere staggered. Franz 
stepped forward to resent the attack, but was 


A Brace of Pistols. 165 

met by Este’s groom who grappled him, and 
they rolled over struggling in the road. A 
crowd had gathered, gaping at the unusual 
scene. The Prince stood staring at his cousin, 
who had not raised his hand. 

“ Separate those two,” he said to me, point- 
ing to the grooms, when I, jumping between 
them at the cost of a few scratches, separated 
them, while they glared like two bulldogs held 
apart, if you imagine two of that species long- 
ing to tear one another, whose only chain is a 
master’s voice. 

“ I can’t fight you here, Este,” Lazere was 
saying. “ Think of our cousin Betty.” 

“ Have you thought of her ? ” 

“ I cannot answer, man. She is as dear to 
me perhaps as to you.” 

“ But I have the right.” 

“ I deny that,” Lazere cried, with sudden 
fierceness. 

“ Ah, Cousin,” Este retaliated, “ I have the 
betrothal— the world, custom, the order of 
things, all sanction my position, rendering 
yours infamous.” 

“ I, Cousin,” Philip Lazere said, “ have, it ’s 
true, only the sanction of her choice. But a 


1 66 


The Countess Bettina . 


woman’s choice is God’s, and God helping me, 
I propose to stand by it.” 

The other appeared again to be about to raise 
his fist. But he hesitated, disarmed by the 
Duke’s self-control. 

“You are right. We can discuss this better 
in the inn.” 

“ Far better, Cousin.” 

“ I have a brace of pistols in my carriage. 
I ’ll bring them.” 

“ As you wish,” said Lazere, walking" up to 
the door. 

The Prince of Este looked me over as he 
fumbled under his carriage seat. “ Accompany 
your friend, who may need you. I shall bring 
my groom.” 

Not answering, I followed the Duke. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


By Candlelight at the Red Fox. 

Two candles above the fireplace lit dimly 
the room with its quaint old furnishings, its 
naked floor, and the faces of the rival cousins, 
and the two servants. The Prince took the 
pistols from the case, offering them to his 
cousin. 

“ I only had these with me by chance. I do 
not believe there is a chance,” he corrected 
himself. 

“You propose I shall fight you?” Lazere 
asked, not taking the pair. 

“ I should have shot you down like a dog, 
but I preferred ” 

“ You preferred ? ” 

“To fight you as men sometimes fight even 
in these days, and he who wins shall have Bet- 
tina. I am giving you a privilege, for she is 
my betrothed ! But you, you say, have her 
167 


The Countess Bettina. 


1 68 

will. I believe it, Philip. Ah, I know, and 
that is all the more reason why I should wish 
to kill you.” 

“You asked me to choose between these 
pistols. You have seen me pick out a pigeon? 
You remember me in the street fight in Con- 
stantinople ? ” 

“ I grant you to be a good shot, and I never 
thought a coward.” 

“ Granting me that much, I, then, can refuse 
to make a choice of the pistols, or to fight 

yy 

you. 

“ I will shoot you down then. 

“ I am not afraid of that, Este. I know you 
too well, to believe you would take a single 
advantage. But why should I fight you ? I 
feel I have affronted you because I believe 
Bettina holds me more than you. If that be 
so, should you kill me, you would not win. 
Should I kill you what would it be to me more 
than an uneasy conscience? ” 

“ Stop your fine phrases, Cousin, I ’ll not 
hear them.” 

“ And a bad conscience, I ’d not have for the 
world, Este.” 

“And you are here to carry away Bettina?” 


By Candlelight. 


169 


“ I will not deny it.” 

“ Nor I permit it.” 

Lazere turned to him fiercely : “ Cousin, 
while I will not fight you, should you stand 
in my way in this I will shoot you or yours 
down.” 

“You forget I can have you arrested.” 

“You forget I have done nothing, that I am 
simply an officer of the Emperor’s Navy in the 
Emperor’s Germany.” 

“ But I shall watch you.” 

“ You are at liberty to outwit me if you can.” 

“ You shall not get out of my sight until you 
are out of Perigord. The Convent of the Sis- 
ters of Saint Francis is near here.” 

“ I know it. I will say good night, Cousin.” 

“ Good night, if you will give me no satisfac- 
tion. Do you put up here? ” 

“ No, not here.” 

“Then I must follow you.” 

Philip Lazere looked his cousin over care- 
fully from head to foot. 

“You ’ll force me to extreme and unpleasant 
measures.” 

“ I have lost the notion of fighting you. I 
will simply watch you,” said the other. 


The Countess Bettina. 


1 70 

He had put the pistols on the table, whence 
suddenly the Duke lifted them. He fingered 
them carefully. “A good pair and loaded. 7 - I 
saw how firmly his lips were put together. 
“Franz,” said he suddenly, “remain in this' 
room. Keep his Highness and his servant, 
covered by these pistols. Shoot either if they 
attempt to move or cry out. You may let 
them go when you hear the bell in the church 
clock strike seven.” 

So suddenly was this done, — so unexpectedly 
did the big Vauclusian have the Prince and his 
groom covered, obeying his master, that I, 
spectator, was as astonished as they. 

“ Liar,” said the Prince, “ I trusted you.” 

“ I ’m sorry, Cousin, I am forced to betray 
that trust. You only have to say you will not 
watch me as you have threatened, certainly an 
easy enough promise.” 

“ I of course will not.” 

“ Then you remain here.” 

“ I wish I ’d shot you when I had the 
chance.” 

‘You did n’t and I have the advantage. 
That fellow will not hesitate at shooting you.” 

“ I know he would die for you, Cousin. You 


By Candlelight. 


171 


need not tell me. He ’ll know how the prison 
in Peribourg feels, I am thinking.” 

“Yes, poor devil, — but it ’s for Bettina.” 

“ For Betty, curse you, Lazere.” 

“ For our cousin’s sake, Monsieur D’Este, 
am I forced to act the least treacherously. I 
am sorry indeed. I must, to get her out of 
Perigord.” 

“ Out of Perigord ? ” asked Este. 

“ Yes, to-night.” 

At this the Prince made a move as if to call 
out. His groom eyed Franz with a fixed, 
angry gaze, as if he would charm him. The 
Vauclusian stood motionless, the pistols raised. 
I wondered if he could endure that fixed pos- 
ture during the five hours the Duke had or- 
dered. 

“ Curse you,” said the Prince again, hesitating 
to use his lungs before the threat in Franz’ face. 

“ I am sorry, Cousin,” Lazere answered, “ but 
you leave me no other way now that we have 
had the misfortune of meeting.” 

And we left that odd scene, master and ser- 
vant covered by the Vauclusian’s pistols, the 
flickering candles lighting the fixed, distorted 
faces of guard and guarded. 


CHAPTER XV. 


The Convent of the Sisters of Saint Francis . 

The host recognized the Duke, who had been 
often there when a boy he had ridden that way 
to a meet of the Count’s hounds in the great 
forest. 

“ And his Highness the Prince ? ” 

“My man Franz is with him. He does not 
wish to be disturbed, having some writing to 
do. Order out my three horses at once, Con- 
rad.” 

“Yes, your Highness,” and he went with a 
lantern. We followed to the stable, knowing 
the need of hurry and the delay that lay in his 
bustling. The Vauclusian groom, bundled up 
in the straw, arose sleepily at sight of his mas- 
ter, putting on the saddles without a word. 

“ A lady’s saddle ? ” asked the host curi- 
ously. 

“Yes,” said the Duke, but giving no ex- 
planation. 


172 


The Convent. 


173 


“ You ride far, your Highness?” 

“To the moon, Conrad.” 

“ A lady appears to be there instead of the 
man.” 

“ Astronomers never get there,” said the 
Duke, not losing his temper. But once on the 
road, the groom riding in the side-saddle, he 
added. “ The fellow will smell the rat in ten 
minutes, and we ’ll probably have Jerome 
D’Este after us with all the gendarmes within 
ten miles.” 

“ Besides we have only three quarters of an 
hour before the appointment,” said I, for I had 
noted the clock at the Red Fox. At this the 
Duke whipped up, and we rode clatteringly 
that two miles. So noisily did we come that 
the Golden Horse was aroused, the stable man 
standing outside with a lantern. 

“ Ah, my lords,” said he. 

“ Has our man the horses saddled ? ” 

Pierre Gallaudet made the answer unneces- 
sary by here appearing himself, leading the 
three horses. 

“ I am ready, master,” he said to me, yawning. 

“ You are becoming the most valuable fellow 
jn the world,” I said, 


1 74 


The Countess Bettina. 


The Duke’s Vauclusian was behind on the 
woman’s saddle with never a word of question 
in his dog-like fidelity. I thought of the other 
Vauclusian standing over his prisoners in the 
room at the Red Fox. Yet the two are not 
particularly remarkable. I have seen many 
times in my life such devotion in servants to 
the master. 

Paying our reckoning, we asked if by going 
past the convent straight over the mountain we 
might not save two miles to Peribourg. 

“ Yes, but the road is steep, and untravelled, 
you will not gain much, my Lord.” 

“ We will try it any way,” said the Duke, 
whipping up his beast, as he slipped the fee into 
the boy’s hand. Directly we drew down to a 
walk, and so came to the open space of the 
court of the fountain which is a few rods below 
the great gate of the convent. No one passed ; 
no sound ; not even a dog barking ; above in 
the right tower of the great building a light 
flickered. 

The Duke strode nervously up and down. 
Really we were very weary, nerved by our ex- 
citement. The true meaning of the undertak- 
ing, our serious risk, perhaps he appreciated 


The Convent. 


1 75 


then for the first time ; nor did we know when 
we might hear pursuers, the Prince of Este, 
freed from his captivity, clattering up the hill. 
The horses sniffed and pawed restlessly. No 
sound came from the convent. 

“ Something has happened there. I am 
going to risk it.” 

“ What ? ” 

“ Ringing them up, getting in, taking Bet- 
tina away. It ’s an hour later than the time. 
We can’t waste any more time or we shall be 
caught.” 

Cautioning Pierre to remain where he was, 
we climbed the hill to the arched entrance. Be- 
yond was the ditch of an old moat, remaining 
from the days when a convent was a fort- 
ress. The great gates had been taken from 
their hinges, and we groped our way through 
the passage to the door inside, where, after 
some fumbling, the Duke found the bell, which 
jingled through the long corridors beyond. At 
last a face peered through a little barred open- 
ing, — shining in the light of the candle its 
owner held, a face framed by white and black, 
of a woman once pretty, and now, although old, 
still showing how fair her youth must have been. 


176 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ Messieurs? ” 

“ Beg admission.” 

“ Why, at this hour? ” 

“To ask a favor,” said the Duke impro- 
vising. “ Our carriage has broken down, and 
we have with us a lady who must have assist- 
ance.” 

“ God forgive us how much is happening to- 
night ! ” the woman exclaimed. 

“ God forgive me,” said the Duke. 

“ Sir, He will if you pray,” said the nun at 
the opening. 

“ Will He ? I doubt it. Heaven is not for per- 
jurers.” 

“ I am certain Monsieur is not that.” 

“ Ah, you don’t know, Mother.” 

Possibly his tone had allayed her surprise; 
for in an unguarded moment she drew the bolts, 
opening an hesitating crack, when the Duke 
throwing his weight against the door bore it 
open. 

The nun screamed. 

The Duke closed the door. 

“ Ah, did I not say I was a perjurer ? ” 

“A robber,” said the nun. “We have noth- 
ing.” 


The Convent . 


i 77 


“ I do not rob, Mother, a house of Heaven, 
— but of that which belongs to the world. I 
come for the Countess Bettina.” 

“Ah,” said the nun, “the Countess tried to 
run away to-night. The Mother Superior is 
questioning her.” 

“ We came to take her away,” said Lazere. 

The nun raised her eyes to the ceiling. There 
were tears on the lids. The lamp stood on an 
oak bench by the entrance. 

“ Monsieur, you must go. You are not per- 
mitted here.” 

“ Not until I see the Mother Superior.” 

“ Impossible ! ” 

“The Countess Bettina?” 

“ You cannot.” 

“ I can, for I will.” 

“You will? ” she asked in a scared voice. 

“ I must, Mother. You say the Countess 
Bettina is with the Mother Superior. Take me 
to them.” . 

“ I cannot, I say.” 

“ I will find them,” said Philip Lazere. 
“ Come, lead us.” 

The woman was weeping. He took up the 
lamp. “ I must see them. Come with us.” 


i ;8 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ We are defenceless, having only God,” said 
the nun. 

“ Do you not see that He is aiding me,” the 
Duke answered. “ I am only after the Coun- 
tess, my cousin.” 

“You are the Duke Philip?” 

“ I have told you so, Mother.” 

“And you have dared to do this?” 

“ For Bettina,” said the Duke, softly. 

“ But I cannot take you to the Mother Supe- 
rior,” the woman continued. 

“ I will find them without you, then,” said 
the Duke, lifting the lamp from the bench. 

The nun’s voice trembled. “ What can I do ? 
Take the stair to the left. In the room at the 
top the Mother Superior is talking with the 
Countess.” 

The Duke looked at her curiously for a 
moment. 

“And why do you tell me? You know, for 
all my threats, I could n’t and would n’t harm 

99 

you. 

“Because, your Highness,” the nun said, 
“you are a lover. We must have only Jesu. 
But we are not forbidden to help others who 
are honest.” 


The Convent, 


179 


“ And you believe me that ? ” 

“H ow else could you dare so much for the 
Countess Bettina? God forgive — The stair to 
the left.” 

Through the door-cracks at the stair-top 
were pencillings of light, and low voices. 

Hesitating for a moment, he threw back the 
door. 

“ My Cousin Philip. You have come to me 
in my wretchedness,” cried the Countess Bet- 
tina, throwing herself into his arms. A paler 
countess was this than the one I knew, for she 
had suffered ; and yet the same girlish face and 
figure. She wore cloak and hat, just as she had 
been stopped. 

“ From over the seas, Bettina.” 

An instant after she saw me, — “ And you, 
too, Mr. Dalton, still serving me ? ” 

“ Still your servant, Countess Bettina. ” 

The Mother Superior stood speechless, re- 
garding this strange scene, as well she might. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


The Mother Superior. 

At last the Mother Superior found a voice 
tremulous with rage and dismay. 

“All is explained, now; her Highness’s at- 
tempted flight. And, you, Monsieur, are out- 
rageous. You respect, evidently, neither this 
House, nor the Order, nor God, nor the 
World.” 

“ I love, Mother ! ” 

“Ah, love,” sniffed the nun, offended, as well 
she might be. 

“ The little Countess Betty.” 

“And I,” said Bettina, “the big sailor, Philip 
Lazere.” 

“And so,” said the Mother Superior, “You 
have plotted this outrage.” 

“ Not us, but I, Mother,” corrected the Duke. 

“ He has done so much for me,” said the 
Countess, smiling her happiness. 

180 


The Mother Superior . 181 

“ You shall be punished in this world ” 

“ We shall have our love.” 

“ And in the next,” said the Mother Superior 
savagely. 

“ We shall have our love,” retorted the 
Countess. 

What was love or hate to the Mother Supe- 
rior ? What even this desecration of her house ? 
Out of her indignation, perhaps out of her 
memories, she began to sob. 

“ I ’m sorry, Mother.” 

“ Hussy,” cried the Mother Superior turning 
suddenly. “ I wish to hear none of your sacri- 
legious words. We have no material help, no 
strong servants ; helpless women only with the 
Saints as protectors. That thought may please 
you, Monsieur.” 

“He had no other way, and wanted me,” 
said the Countess Bettina. 

“ The way of the wicked is accursed,” said 
the Mother Superior. 

“If wicked, we were forced to be so. We 
had no other way,” retorted the Countess. 

“ Talk not, nor reason. If I might appeal to 
your sense, — if ” 

“ You cannot, I ’m sorry { q ?ay,” said Philip 


1 8.2 


The Countess Bettina. 


Lazere. “ I have risked too much to give up 
now. And, dear Betty, are you ready ? ” 

“You will not take her,” screamed the Mother 
Superior. 

“ But I will, begging your pardon,” said the 
Duke. 

“ To keep me always — that is as long as he 
wants me,” said Bettina. “ But Annette. 
We can’t leave her, Philip. She ’ll be pun- 
ished.” 

“You ’ll be caught,” said the Mother Supe- 
rior, “ and disgraced and punished.” 

“ We have our love,” said the Countess Bet- 
tina again, triumphantly. 

“ I have seen love grow cold.” 

“ Not ours ! ” cried Bettina, trembling. 

“ Like yours,” said the Mother Superior reso- 
lutely stating Fate’s way. 

Tears were in Bettina’s eyes. “ Ah, I ’ll not 
believe you. I can believe what I wish.” 

“ Can anyone ? ” questioned the Mother 
Superior. 

“ She does n’t believe or think, Mother ; my 
cousin Betty knows. Have I not crossed the 
seas, and violated law, human and divine, and 
been rude to your house and your prejudice, for 


The Mother Superior. 183 

her. She may forget ; many better men can 
she find than I/’ 

“ Not Betty,” said the Countess, her hands 
over his lips. “ Now my maid ” 

“Your Highness!” was Annette’s voice at 
the door. 

“ I thought you locked up.” 

“ Mother Ursula trusted me, and did not lock 
the door.” 

“ How can we trust the untrustworthy ? ” said 
the Mother Superior. 

“ I begged her,” said Annette, “ because I 
thought the Countess might be crying her eyes 
out lacking me to comfort her. She was not in 
her room. I waited outside the door for her to 
come out.” 

“ Annette, we are going.” 

“To freedom, to happiness,” said the Count- 
ess. “ Adieu, Mother. I am sorry, but it has 
been for my love. You have been sweet to 
me, and 

“Yes, you curse yourself, girl. I can pray.” 

“ Pray for me, Mother,” said the Countess 
Bettina, as we turned down the stair. 

Below waited the nun who had acted the 
doorkeeper. She looked at us out of her sweet, 


184 


The Countess Bettina . 


sad eyes, while suddenly we heard the Mother 
Superior’s hysterical cries. 

Not a moment was to be lost we knew well 
while we hurried over the old moat in the early 
white light which was making the night day by 
a series of deft touches like those of a painter 
changing a bit of white canvas into a fancied 
landscape. Pierre Gallaudet and the Vauclu- 
sian, with the horses, were in the exact spot 
where we had left them, Pierre now wide 
awake. 

“ Monsieur,” handing the bridle reins to the 
Vauclusian, and coming forward. “ I can serve 
you no further.” 

“ Why fellow, get to your place.” 

“ Whatever my faults I am not sacrilegious, 
I cannot assist in robbing a convent,” the man 
went on. 

The Countess Bettina overheard, stopping. 

“ Oh, I know you, cocker of Mentone. 
Your master has robbed the convent of me.” 

“ The Countess Bettina,” gasped the fellow. 

“To the horses,” I cried roughly, when he 
returned to his post without further word, his 
eyes bulging. 

“ And of me, Pierre ! ” said Annette, touch- 


The Mother Superior. 185 

ing his shoulder. “ Help me to ride this horse 
like a boy.” 

This was our last touch of mutiny as we 
rode on past the convent over the mountain. 
For we had decided that this way, while 
longer and taking us nearer Peribourg, would 
be safer, being unfrequented. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A Further Proof of Pierre Gallaudet’s IVit. 

That mountain ride was silent, save for the 
Countess Bettina’s occasional cries at the 
delight of having her own way even at the 
risk of losing it. None of us had relish for that 
idea which sobered us in the moment when 
we had accomplished the escape, but when 
indeed all the perils still were untried, before 
we should be out of this land of Perigord. 
Nor could we be sure if over the border we 
could feel ourselves safe. No light a matter is 
it to break into a convent, to say nothing of 
burglarizing it of a great heiress. Certainly 
we had only one way, and that straight before. 
No doubt the country behind us already was 
aroused. Our only safety was in following the 
mountain road, over which the morning sun 
now fell, lighting the distant white peaks. 

The Countess and Philip Lazere led the 


Pierre Gallaudct. 


187 


way, trotting and cantering where possible, 
and then falling into a walk and earnest con- 
versation. I followed. Behind came Annette, 
riding her hoi^e man fashion, — as we had no 
second woman’s saddle, — and the two grooms. 
The girl rode Franz’s horse, and I wondered if 
that faithful fellow still stood guard in the 
room of the Red Fox. No one could tell 
indeed what hue and cry now was seeking us, — 
whether the whole country side might not be 
aroused. We now could have no proof one 
way or another on that quiet way until we 
should come down on the farther side into the 
main road, not improbably into the hands of 
the gendarmes. 

The Countess exclaimed at my silence, 
shouting over her shoulder. 

“ Mr. Dalton, why so quiet ? ” 

“ It is weariness.” I believe I answered 
truly. 

For indeed we had been near twenty-four 
hours; and through the medium of a jaded 
body things always appear at their worst, I 
know full well on many another occasion than 
this. I saw indeed, at that moment, no possible 
outcome of the adventure, excepting in failure 


88 


The Countess Bettina. 


and complete disgrace. Our proceedings that 
night had been indiscreet, and yet I do not 
know how we well could have avoided meeting 
the Prince of Este, or how we should have been 
rid of him in any other way than by the violent 
one adopted by the Duke. 

In strict frankness, I must confess I thought 
of how the affair would affect me personally, 
as I was assuming my place as the head of the 
Daltons. The cowardly, personal consideration 
never had occurred to me in the whole under- 
taking. Only now it appalled and bothered, 
because with a body so tired as mine then was 
indeed every mole-hill becomes a mountain, 
impossible to scale. 

And yet these personal misgivings all van- 
ished when I thought of the Countess Bettina, 
whose lithe, strong figure was on the horse 
before me. For her would be the bitter dis- 
appointment, and the trouble of it all ; the 
poignancy, and then the dull pain of suffering 
for her lover, liable to prison, and certain of a 
dishonorable dismissal from the Emperor’s 
service. What did it matter to me that people 
should say I had involved myself of my own 
free will in the disreputable undertaking, and 


Pierre Gallaudet. 


189 


that such a course indeed was quite to be ex- 
pected of a person who disgracefully had lost 
his commission in the American Navy. For 
the girlish Countess would be the sorrow and 
trouble. 

I believe the three hours of that morning 
ride were the longest of my life. Nothing 
happened. No one passed save some star- 
ing peasants stirring to their morning tasks. 
And all about was the loneliness of the moun- 
tains, and of ourselves, a solitary, almost hope- 
less party who had in our favor only the hope 
of the rarest chance. The Countess herself fell 
silent. The horses were heavy, not having re- 
covered from yesterday’s long jaunt. The 
grooms rode sleepily. On a canter I twice 
found my eyes closed and narrowly escaped a 
fall. 

* “ The main road is just below there, bordered 

by oaks,” said the Countess over her shoulder. 
“ I have walked and ridden every inch of this 
country.” 

We walked the brutes carefully, for the way 
was almost abandoned, rutty and stony, and 
now leading down to the turn into the main 
road. As Philip Lazere almost made this turn, 


The Countess Bettina. 


190 

there rode about the corner, with a sneer on his 
face, his Highness of Este. 

“ Ah, good morning,” said he, as debonair as 
a gallant on a morning canter, and this a chance 
meeting. I saw the Countess Bettina totter in 
her saddle, and then, giving her horse a vicious 
little switch, she sat straight as before. 

“ I suppose this means, Este,” the Duke be- 
gan, not losing his self-control, although I knew 
him to be mad with his rage, and disappoint- 
ment, “ that our ride is stopped.” 

“ Well, as you choose to put it, Cousin. Seven 
of the Count’s foresters are behind, each armed 
with a musket. Behind you the whole country 
is aroused because of the outrageous trespass 
on the property of the nuns of St. Francis. I 
declare I know not what you may do better 
than to come with me.” 

“ I am beaten,” said the Duke bitterly. 

“ If you had not had the misfortune of meet- 
ing me last night you indeed might have carried 
Betty away.” 

“ He has my heart, Monsieur, you may like 
to know, and you — my hate. Oh, Philip, I ’m 
sorry.” 

“ Oh,” said Este, trying to hide his own cha- 


Pierre Gallaudet, 


191 


grin behind the mask of lightness, “ our cousin 
Philip is clever. He would have had me quite 
if the landlord of the Red Fox had not been 
curious. Your man made a good fight. He 
near killed two men.” 

“ Ah, poor Franz ! ” breathed the Duke. 

“ And, ah, poor Philip ! ” said Bettina. 

“ That I should have entangled you in this 
and failed -” 

“ Spared neither her name nor her future,” 
sneered the Prince. But Bettina turned on him 
sharply, spurring her horse, bringing her riding 
whip across his face, where the line swelled all 
at once. 

“Coward,” she cried, “has he not said we 
are beaten ? ” 

He neither answered nor cried out, although 
the blow must have hurt. 

“ Este, you put my temper out of bounds. 
But you may know that so I would kill you if 
I could ; that I hate you, despise you. Does 
this give you reward for your spite, to know 
that nothing can separate Philip Lazere and 
me. Did the sea, or my father ? and will you 
attempt it ? ” 

Under the words, more stinging than the 


192 


The Countess Bettina. 


blow, for I believe he loved her, he was silent, 
and I pitied him. For him was only the Count- 
ess Bettina’s scorn. If I had not hope of more, 
I had no fear of ever receiving that look. But 
such hate and scorn men must expect from the 
best of women should they stand in favored 
rivals’ rose-scattered way. 

The seven foresters had marshalled behind 
their leader. By this time I had forgotten my 
exhaustion, and I recollected the twenty days’ 
imprisonment I already had had at Monsieur 
de Perigord’s hands. I suppose the memory 
maddened me. The arrest already had made 
me half mad. At any rate suddenly I lashed 
my brute, ran him straight down the slope into 
the little army, with a cry like I have heard in 
Arizona from an Apache, broke through, and 
bending low over my horse’s neck, urged him 
on, and on, he, too, like me now possessed by the 
mad wish for flight. I heard the cantering be- 
hind. I urged him still on, and on. Men passed, 
and cried out, but nothing stopped me. Still I 
heard the horses, now lagging — becoming one, 
almost at my heels. We must have come seven 
or eight miles. Suddenly my brute gave a 
lurch, went over, and I, as luck would have it, 


Pierre Gallaudet . 


193 


free of the stirrups. The pursuer was close 
after, — almost ran me down, pulling up his 
panting animal. And it was Pierre Gallaudet. 

“ You Pierre,” I cried dumbfounded. 

“ I, master.” 

“ And how the devil — ” 

“ I followed you.” 

“ And it was you I was running from ? ” 

“ None other. Did you not consider they 
were too few to risk leaving his Highness and 
the Countess? ” 

“ Consider!” I laughed. I simply had run 
away, successfully for the moment. I had 
thought of no one but myself. Nor now that 
I was away did I see I could have helped the 
Countess Bettina by being taken to prison. I 
breathed a bit then, leaning over the poor brute 
which did not attempt to rise. 

“ He is spent.” 

“ Dying,” said Pierre. 

“ And yours ?” 

“ Wind broken, I believe.” 

“ Poor brutes. I ’d rather lose my right hand 
than to see them suffer.” 

“ We can’t help them.” 

“ What can we do ? ” asked I, 
x 3 


i 9 4 


The Countess Bcttina . 


“If Monsieur will allow me I can see only 
one thing.” 

“ And that ? ” 

“To make our way on foot to this town of 
Peribourg, if we can ” 

“ Why, we should be deeper in the net ? ” 

Pierre shrugged his shoulders. “ We can 
never get out of this country. Every road will 
be watched. There ’s only one way.” 

“ And that ?” 

“ To deliver ourselves to his Highness, the 
Count.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


An Anarchist with a Donkey-Cart. 


I LOOKED at him, admiring his wit. The 
situation was plain enough. That was our only 
course ; to go boldly to Monsieur de Perigord, 
putting the whole affair before him, to assure 
him that, if he would avoid scandal (and he had 
shown his dislike of it by my abduction) he 
must have the matter quieted ; must let us go 
free. I am sure my former experience with 
the Count de Perigord did not leave this a 
particularly cheerful expedient. But I had 
observed in my strange talk with him that he 
held certain quixotic notions, and that he might 
be led to treat with some leniency a person 
who threw himself on his protection. I saw 
instantly the cleverness of Pierre’s reasoning, 
and in the direction we supposed Peribourg to 
be we started, leaving our poor animals. Shortly 
we passed a man who told us we were pointed 


195 


196 The Countess Bettina. 

rightly, and I gave him five francs to look after 
the horses we had left in the road. He stared 
his wonder. 

Tired, my clothes torn, and dust-covered, we 
must have been rather sorry-appearing objects. 
Not only were we weary and dirty but now 
hungry, and gladly we saw a little inn by the 
roadside, where we entered hastily, expecting 
the Prince of Este on the scene any moment. 
Although we had had a long start he now had 
had time to overtake us. Was it that he was 
not on his way to Peribourg ? or had his cap- 
tives escaped as we ? I did not entertain that 
possibility, although the thought left me glad. 
I now was sorry I had left the Countess Bet- 
tina, for after all I might have proven of some 
service. But now hunger was the first consid- 
eration. 

Pierre and I sat over some delicious chops 
and a mug of the beer of the country, more as 
old friends than as master and man. The inn- 
keeper, a dark, bearded, scowling, ill-favored 
rascal, watched us. I commended his mutton 
and the cleanliness of the little place. 

“ My wife, Monsieur, not I ; I have been 
much in the army.” 


An Anarchist . 


197 


“ Extend then our appreciation to Madame.” 

“ Hum ! Monsieur is very good. We have 
few travellers, most of our trade being from 
the peasants. You see, Monsieur, there ’s the 
Red Fox farther down.” 

“Yes, I know the Red Fox,” said I, leaning 
back with a delicious langour. If I only might 
sleep ! 

“ I have had my experience about the world,” 
the innkeeper began again. 

“ I observe Monsieur to be no common man,” 
I assented. 

“ And I am about driving to Peribourg,” he 
went on irrelevantly. 

I turned about quite awake. 

“ And we who are walking shall be glad to 
avail ourselves of Monsieur’s vehicle.” 

“ I shall take a cart loaded with hay. But 
as I have observed, I have had some experi- 
ence.” 

“Yes, so you have said, — experience ! You 
look it, surely.” 

“ Experience with gaols,” muttered Pierre 
Gallaudet, with the wit of his kind. 

“ Ah, yes, with gaols. Monsieur understands. 
I, too, am a member.” 


1 98 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ A member ? ” quoth I. 

“ Of one of the societies, Monsieur knows 
full well.” He leaned toward me excitedly. 
“ I ’m not blind. You are running from the 
police.” 

“ I suppose that is the case,” said I, since he 
appeared to wish my assent, and a lie would 
not have been assuring, with our appearances 
to contradict it. 

“Are they far behind ? ” 

“ We don’t know.” 

“ Come quickly into my stable.” 

We followed, wondering at his craziness. A 
little donkey attached to a cart loaded with 
hay stood there blinking out of his wise, asi- 
nine eyes. 

“ Hide yourselves in the straw, and I will 
drive you into Peribourg. The time will come 
when it will be the other way, if we live.” 

“ The other way ? ” 

“ When the rich, the powerful, the oppress- 
ors shall hide from the people.” 

I saw he was mad with anarchical notions. 
His eyes glittered strangely. 

“ I knew at once that you belonged to us. 
All Peribourg is filled with the agents of the 


A n A narch ist. 


199 


societies. The miners are almost ready to rise, 
and the people everywhere are chips dried for 
the fire.” 

“ We fell into the right company, then.” 

“ Monsieur, through ninety-three, innkeepers 
became generals, princes; I have my hopes.” 

“ But you believe in equal distribution ?” 

“ I believe, Monsieur, in everything being 
destroyed. Then all will have an equal chance. 
He who runs from the police I will help. 
Quick ! They ’ll be after you — Into the cart.” 

The little donkey sniffed. We obeyed our 
strange friend, who proceeded to cover us with 
hay. At once I fell asleep, to be wakened by 
the jolts. 

The whole affair, as I opened my eyes, 
seemed like a dream. I was not sure whether 
this anarchical innkeeper existed, until, raising 
my head out of the sweet-smelling hay, I saw 
him at the donkey’s head. He was whistling 
softly while the animal plodded on ; and I de- 
tected a bar of the Marseillaise. Lying back I 
looked up into the sky. Where, indeed, were 
these last exciting weeks since I had kept the 
assignation at Mentone ? I should have be- 
lieved I had dreamed them all if it had not 


200 


The Countess Bettina. 


been for the ill-favored fellow at the donkey’s 
head, whistling the bar from the hymn which 
had inspired so much of the sentiment for the 
peoples’ ills. Yet he was not an anarchist — 
whatever he might be, — out of a feeling for the 
woes and oppressions chargeable to the rich ; 
but out of envy, because he hoped when the 
old society once was destroyed, that he, in the 
formation of the new, might have his chance of 
riches and of principalities. So that bar of the 
Marseillaise, his words, his sad, envious eyes, 
had told me the story. Our rascal was just one 
of many thousands, brooding in his rural soli- 
tude, wishing for the chance to prove himself, 
and believing that two torn and dusty vaga- 
bonds might be of the kind inimical to the 
police and order. He had said he had served 
in the army., I could believe it, from his shoul- 
ders. You cannot often mistake a man who has 
had that experience. All continental peoples 
show the effect of the physical training, and of 
the discipline, and although the support of 
these great armies may be a heavy tax on 
the peoples’ resources, another generation may 
show in the people better bodies and, not im- 
probably, better minds. But the discipline only 


An Anarchist. 


201 


had made the worse our innkeeper’s anarchy. 
Many for having been soldiers are the more 
ready to accept the present conditions. Some 
few others grow more restless under restraint. 
I remember the story I heard the other day of 
an Irish sergeant with the ancestral hate of 
the British who, under an enemy’s fire, turned 
mutineer, although for years he had been a 
good soldier. Such was the nature of our 
man, made a little mad by his own thoughts. 

Moving my foot I struck Pierre Gallaudet, 
who started up, grunting. 

“ We seem to have fallen into a friend’s 
hands, Pierre,” said I. 

“ The sleep in his cart has helped. We are 
going to Peribourg ? ” 

“You remember it was your suggestion.” 

“ But now that I am rested I wonder if I may 
not get away without running that danger.” 

“ Not likely, Pierre. You would better stay 
by me. I believe I may get you out of this 
trouble.” 

“ You go to the Count ? ” 

“ I go to the Count, believing I can persuade 
him to pardon me, and you, because you have 
been my servant acting under my direction.” 


202 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ I leave all to you, Master,” said he from 
under his covering of hay. 

I will confess that I did not like the notion 
of flight. Many a man has made an honest 
deed appear an hopelessly bad one because he 
has run away. I might run from the Prince of 
Este, and arrest, but I was going to the Count, 
the chief magistrate, to explain, and in this way, 
I indeed should be more likely to assist the 
Countess Bettina’s cause. If Monsieur de 
Perigord should continue obstinate, I could 
put my matter before the English Consul 
at Peribourg, knowing that the name of Dues- 
dale would be of some help, at least in London. 
Lying there in the hay I did not think my 
case, nor the Countess’s, altogether so hopeless. 
The chance meeting with the anarchical inn- 
keeper was encouraging. Appearing as we did 
I did not believe we could have made Peri- 
bourg without almost certain arrest. 

We must have passed some miles in this jog- 
ging cart, I half asleep, considering my situa- 
tion, when I heard the tramp of horses behind. 
Our inkeeper drew his cart to the roadside. 
At the risk of being seen 1 peered out from 
under the hay, seeing the Prince of Este’s 


An Anarchist. 


203 

victoria pass with the groom we had met at 
the Red Fox on the box, and close behind two 
gendarmes riding one on each side of the Duke 
of Vaucluse, who held his head with a sort of 
proud defiance. Behind came a cart with four 
more gendarmes guarding Franz and the Vau- 
clusian groom, who were bound hand and foot. 
The gendarmes were the ordinary mounted 
police, not the foresters in red and green of 
which as is well known, Monsieur de Perigord 
keeps a small army. Slowly the cavalcade 
passed. I held my head down under the hay, 
feeling my heart-beats. 

“ You see your escape,” whispered our 
anarchical innkeeper, coming to the cart’s side. 
Pierre Gallaudet was snoring. 

“ Yes, and how much I owe you, my man.” 

“You owe me nothing.” 

“Yet you take the risk of your own ar- » 
rest.” 

“ Gladly, if I may thwart the police in any- 
thing.” 

I felt if I had appeared at his inn as the 
ordinary gentleman tourist he might have 
knocked me on the head in support of his 
theory of hate for the powerful and help for 


204 


The Countess Bettina. 


criminals and outcasts. Whistling his favorite 
air he again started up the donkey. 

And where was the Countess Bettina? Sent 
back to her convent of course, poor, suffering, 
little lady. The Prince now was parading his re- 
venge. He brought his own cousin to gaol, an 
officer of the Imperial Navy, the bearer of a great 
name, caught burglarizing a convent and abduct- 
ing a princess. Really it appeared a fine revenge. 
I did not like the taste of it, however. But I 
fell asleep again, when I was waked by Pierre 
and our anarchist peering over the cart side. 

“You ’re safe now, Monsieur.” 

“Where?” said I, leaping out of the cart, 
when I saw we were in the stable, and my 
acquaintance, the wise little donkey, munching 
hay with the air of a very small beast who has 
done the work of a very big one, as indeed 
he had. 

“ In a stable back of a peasant’s inn. Fol- 
lowing the alley you reach the main street 
leading to the castle.” 

I felt rested ; my wits and muscles again were 
my own. I offered him some gold, thanking 
him for the service, I thought he would have 
Strugk me. 


An Anarchist. 


205 

“ I served you because of my principles, 
Monsieur. They are not in the market.” 

“ But we ate your mutton, drank your beer.” 

“ Two francs are my due.” 

“ And the conveyance to Peribourg.” 

“ For that there is no pay.” 

“ My man, I thank you at least. If all anar- 
chists were as true to their ideas as you, 
anarchy might succeed.” 

“ Then Monsieur has not ” he began with 

a disappointed air. 

“ Fled arrest? yes.” I indeed had. “You 
saw the prisoners who passed on the road. 
Had it not been for you, we too might have 
been of that party.” 

This appeared to please him. His scowl even 
became good natured. He shook my hand 
vigorously, asking us to have a drink out of the 
two francs. He would have more money, he 
said, after marketing the hay. 

I told him Pierre doubtless would accommo- 
date him, when that person nodded. Leaving 
them together, and admonishing Pierre not to 
leave the inn yard, I went out into the long 
street of the little town, which climbs from the 
lake shore up to the old Gothic keep at the top. 


206 


The Countess Bettina. 


Every moment I expected to be arrested. I 
was not a particularly prepossessing object, my 
coat torn at the elbow from my cropper when 
running away. I fancied the people passing 
before the little shops stared at me curiously. 
But I kept on, for all the world as if I had no 
fear of arrest, up to Monsieur de Perigord’s 
gate, before which was a single sentinel in the 
green and red uniform, bearing across the 
breast the red fox of Perigord. The man not 
challenging I passed through the open gate to 
a door whence the porter was just coming, 
jingling his keys. 

“ Visitors are not permitted to-day, Mon- 
sieur,” he began. 

“ I wish to see his Highness.” 

He looked me over. 

“ Impossible.” 

“ All things are possible, my friend.” 

I slipped a louis into his hand. 

“ Give me pen and ink.” 

“ Certainly, Monsieur,” he said now respect- 
fully, leading the way into an ante-room. 

I wrote : “ The Earl of Duesdale asks an 
audience of his Highness, the Comte de Peri, 
gord, concerning a certain relative, a Mr. John 


An Anarchist 


207 


Dalton, who once perhaps occasioned his High- 
ness some unpleasantness.” I signed, “ Dues- 
dale,” leaving it unsealed for inspection. 

“ Hand it to the steward.” 

“Yes, Monsieur.” 

“ Monseigneur is here ? ” 

“ His Highness the Prince of Este just has 
left him.” 

“ Can you not get that to his hands your- 
self? ” 

“ I might.” 

I dropped another louis into the expectant 
palm. 

“ Tell him Lord Duesdale is below, must see 
him. Do you understand. You can accom- 
plish so much, my man, and you will earn an- 
other louis.” 

“Yes, Monseigneur.” For I suddenly had 
risen in his estimation, so powerful an incentive 
to such fellows is the glitter of gold and the 
ring of a title. 

I was fearful lest my note never might reach 
the Count if presented to and debated on by 
some upper lackey, while I was sure so influen- 
tial a personage as the porter could accomplish 
its presentation by the discreet division of my 


20 § 


The Countess Bettina. 


bribes. In writing the note I remembered how 
respectfully the Count had spoken of my cousin 
Duesdale. Likely enough he had not noticed 
that I had become Duesdale. He might admit 
me influenced by that talismanic name, and 
when he should discover that Duesdale and I 
were one and the same I should have him face 
to face. In the event my reasoning seemed 
good, a quarter-hour later a lackey appearing, 
who ushered me through many corridors, where, 
when the door opened, I found myself face to 
face for the second time with Monsieur de 
Perigord. 


. CHAPTER XIX. 


“ The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men Gang A ft A-Gley. ” 

— Burns. 


As I look back on this adventure I do not 
know in its whole course a movement better 
planned that this of mine in going boldly to 
Monsieur de Perigord, throwing myself on his 
mercy, and reasoning with him about the scan- 
dal he certainly would bring on his name by not 
suffering the Countess and Philip Lazere to be 
not only free, but affianced with Monsieur’s own 
blessing. Yet one of the curious phenomena 
in this life is that of the disaster attending the 
best reasoned plan, while that on which one has 
not counted, — the merest chance — sometimes 
develops results the most astounding. In the 
recital of American achievements I remember 
the so-called Bonanza kings, who took, with 
much foreboding, in payment of a grocery bill, 
a mining claim apparently worthless. For some 
209 


210 


The Countess Bettina. 


time these Irish adventurers had been conduct- 
ing the general store of a Californian mining 
camp, but in all their commercial care and fore- 
thought they never could have dreamed of 
gaining so much as by the chance — which they 
first decried — of being forced to take this ap- 
parently worthless payment of a bad debt. 
Within a year, so the story runs, they were rich 
beyond the dreams of avarice. My ancestor, 
the great admiral, has recorded in his memoirs 
how some of his achievements in the Peninsular 
Campaign, the best planned by every strategic 
authority, failed, while those of which he ex- 
pected the least led to his most astonishing 
victories. Of course one cannot go so far as 
Mahomet who summed up life with the behest, 
“ Wait, for God will give what he will, no more, 
no less.” The whole theory of plodding would 
be turned topsy-turvy by such philosophy; 
while indeed it is equally true that extraordinary 
chances are likely to be produced by the de- 
velopment of capacities through close applica- 
tion to details that are only apparently of no 
bearing on these results. Study any human 
victory carefully and you doubtless will find 
some cause for it in the character of the victor. 


“ Best Laid Schemes 


21 1 


My ancestor won his victories because he had 
the extraordinary perseverance which running 
against a series of events, and ready to grasp 
any favorable one — found, somewhere in the 
series, victory. The secret of Caesar’s and Bona- 
parte’s, and Watts’ the inventor’s, and of Mr. 
Pitt’s success, and Lord Nelson’s, and Wash- 
ington’s, and Wolfe’s, and General Grant’s, and 
of that of the great merchants and scholars, 
and discoverers, was in never yielding to adverse 
fate. That indeed is the reason why the Earth 
long since did not stop revolving. But — to re- 
turn to the beginning of this digression, — the 
best planned movement often has the worst re- 
sults, and, yet, by all good reasoning, it may 
appear — even after the event — the cleverest 
course to have taken. And so now I believe 
I was right in appealing to Monsieur de Peri- 
gord’s prejudice against scandal which I had 
seen displayed so remarkably, and boldly, in my 
abduction. 

The room where I had been ushered was a 
high, vaulted chamber, with great windows look- 
ing out onto the lake. Monsieur de Perigord 
stood in the middle, booted, spurred, — as if just 
starting for a ride. In riding costume he looked 


2 I 2 


The Countess Bettina . 


more the old-time lord than when before I had 
seen him in his improvised prison back from 
Saint Cloud. In one hand he held a little sil- 
ver cigarette case. With all the nonchalant 
ease of a gentleman who nothing surprises, he 
extended this to me. Not to be outdone I ac- 
cepted the proffer. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure, I may say. 
And yet I should not be saying the exact 
truth ; I have given you the credit of being 
clever, — since I knew you first, — made your ac- 
quaintance owing to your unpleasant proclivity 
for meddling with other people’s affairs.” 

“ Monsieur de Perigord,” said I, recovering a 
little from my surprise at his calmness. 

“Ah, yes, that is my name. You appear 
rather excited. I am not, I assure you. I have 
recovered from that stage of this business. Now 
— now — ” He brought his fist emphatically 
down on to the table — “ Now I propose to face 
this attempt to steal my daughter, and to bring 
disgrace on her, and on me, and the name, — 
with all proper calmness.” 

“And you will see — ” I began. 

“ I see nothing, Lord Duesdale, — I heard of 
your accession to the title a week since ; I read 
the journals, — I see nothing as you see it.” 


“ Best Laid Schemes 2 t 3 

“Ah, but, I believe you do, if you will per- 
mit me, your Highness.” 

“ I will grant nothing — not a liberty more. 
You have not a particle of sense, nor of pru- 
dence. You have pitted yourself against me, 
and mine. You have tried to help on a silly 
infatuation of Bettina’s. You have come here 
because you have thought the matter has gone 
so far that I should be forced to take back my 
pledged word to Este, and to sanction with my 
blessing — this elopement, — this abduction.” 

“ I thought that exactly, your Highness.” 

“ Ah, I fancied so. I was surprised when I 
had your note. But I have had so many sur- 
prises this morning that this was but one more, 
and I was able to think calmly about it. You 
had come here to get my pardon for Bettina, — 
and for Lazere.” 

“Yes, my exact purpose.” 

“ Ah, I admire your daring, — your impu- 
dence. You forced me once to take away your 
liberty personally, and now — ” 

“ And now, if you please ? ” 

“ The police have you in hand, — not I. 
You have burglarized a convent. You are 
debtor to the simple criminal law of this land. 


214 


The Countess Bettina. 


I have nothing to do in the matter. I shall 
hand you over to the police, where you will be 
with your accomplice, Lazere, and — Have an- 
other cigarette, my Lord, — the law simply will 
take its course, on you both. It may be no 
less severe because the Duke is a captain in the 
Imperial Navy.” 

“ But the scandal? ” 

“ Will there not be scandal in any event,” 
cried his Highness, furiously, “ should this silly 
affair succeed ? Now, it will not hurt our name 
particularly, because Bettina is back in her con- 
vent, and because the Prince of Este is still 
anxious to have the marriage as arranged.” 

“But the Countess? — your daughter?” I 
pleaded. 

“ But my word ? ” 

“ But her happiness?” 

“ Ugh, a girl’s fancy. I have known a woman 
to have a thousand, and when she had one she 
always was ready to swear she never would have 
another.” 

“ The Countess’s mother’s family, the Mel- 
roses, no one could term fickle.” 

“ No, I grant you,” said Monsieur de Peri- 
gord, “ Her mother was the best woman I ever 


“Best Laid Schemes . 


215 


have known. And Bettina, — she ’s impulsive, 
but good, honest. I love her. Why do I ex- 
plain to you, I wonder? Because you make 
me, and I will say I believe I know her lasting 
happiness lies in keeping her word with Este. 
If it were not for that, I should be free to say 
that this extreme conduct might lead me to 
agree with Bettina and her cousin Philip. But 
that is impossible. Her interest is mine ; mine, 
hers. And — ” 

“ And, — you will forget the flight from Men- 
tone, coupled with this sequel.” 

“ Humph, I will, because you have dared so 
far as to have become lawless ; do you see. A 
prison certainly will be yours. And Bettina, — 
I will keep my eye on her, until she shall agree 
with me.” 

“ She has a strong will.” 

“And I too,” assented Monsieur de Perigord. 

“ Why not yield ? Why not let her have her 
way? Say that his Highness of Este acted 
flagrantly in arresting us when our presence in 
Perigord had your sanction.” 

“ But the violation of the property of the 
Sisters of Saint Francis?” asked Monsieur de 
Perigord, as if curiously. 


2l6 


The Countess Bettina . 


“ Make them a present, — for your soul’s wel- 
fare. Build them a chapel.” 

Monsieur de Perigord laughed. 

“ Did I not admire your infernal cleverness, 
Duesdale, I should have clapped you into gaol 
without a word. But something about you 
when I first saw you — ” 

“ Against my will, you will remember, Mon- 
sieur de Perigord.” 

“Yes, it was against your will. But you 
conducted yourself with such devilish self-as- 
surance, that I actually gave you the chance of 
fighting me to settle the dispute. And it was 
the same feeling toward you which has made 
me listen now. But, — not another word. To 
gaol you go. In the courts your case will be 
tried. My way is not yours, nor Lazere’s, nor 
Bettina’s. I will not give up. I never have. 
Baptiste ! ” 

From a recess somewhere came my gaoler 
of the prison, back from Saint Cloud, the tall 
fellow I had seen with his mistress on the cliff- 
drive. He eyed me with the same malevolence 
he had displayed from the first. I wondered if 
in an ordinary gaol I should have him as guard. 

“Yes, Monseigneur!” 


“Best Laid Schemes 2 1 7 

“ Take this gentleman to the police. Explain 
simply that he is implicated in the desecration 
of the property of the nuns of Saint Francis. 
Ah, adieu, my Lord/' said Monsieur de Peri- 
gord, almost jauntily. 

“And is it not au revoir ? ” I asked with 
some spirit myself. 

“ After you have worked out your sentence, 
it may be.” 

“ I am an English subject, you forget ?” 

“And subject to German criminal law, and 
to the local law of Perigord, for their violation. 
I don’t believe it will be made an international 
affair.” 

Baptiste put his hand on my shoulder with 
the word, “ Come ! ” 

“ At least you can talk now,” I cried, remem- 
bering his insufferable silence when I last was 
Monsieur de Perigord’s prisoner. 

“ Monseigneur directs my tongue,” he ob- 
served. 

“ Ah, yes, go ! ” said Monsieur de Perigord, 
with the air of a weary host. “ I believe I have 
quite talked myself out.” 

I looked at master and man, — at the prospect 
of lake and sky out of the window, and then,— 


2 I 8 


The Countess Bettina. 


seeing no other course, — I turned about, Bap- 
tiste leading. Following him through the cor- 
ridors, into the court, and down the long street 
of Peribourg, I ran over the reflection with 
which I began this chapter of the adventure. 
Never be sure of the plan appearing the most 
feasible in the event proving so. 


CHAPTER XX. 


On the Pleasures of Liberty. 

I OBSERVED that my acquaintance Baptiste 
had that peculiar phase of dislike which takes 
the form of an effort to torture either by saying 
nothing, — I had known that side to his charac- 
ter, — or by saying too much. I make no 
doubt, however, that his likes and dislikes were 
never his own, but, as the good servant’s should 
be, only his master’s. Now as we walked tow- 
ards the public court of Peribourg, where I 
understood I was to be committed, he showed^ 
with some glee, the louis with which I supposed 
I had bribed the Castle porter. The fellow 
declared that my first appearance at the Castle 
gate had been noted ; that I had been watched 
to see what I might do, — that I, indeed, was 
nicely caught. 

“ I let myself be caught,” I answered with 
some pride. 


219 


220 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ Eh, M’sieur,” answered my guard incredu- 
lously. 

I made no attempt to run away, although he 
appeared to be the only guard. He had but 
to raise his voice to bring others. I felt in fact 
that I had had enough of foolhardy attempts 
for one day, and I had no heart for another. 

I was taken before an important looking 
justice (he might have posed for the famous 
Shallow), who looked me over keenly on Bap- 
tiste’s statement that I was implicated in the 
affair of the Convent of the Sisters of Saint 
Francis. 

“ Monsieur is certainly a very dangerous per- 
son,” he commented. “ I commit you to gaol 
pending the trial of the other offenders.” 

“ How long may that be ? ” I ventured to 
ask. 

“ Possibly twenty days,” his Honor conde- 
scended to state, while I was hurried away by 
two policemen of Peribourg, not sorry, I de- 
clare, to be rid at least for a time of Baptiste. 

The gaol is close by the lake shore in the 
lower part of the town, a structure that once 
must have been a watch station for the castle 
above. A square building with grated windows, 


Pleasures of Liberty. 221 

and a single tall, round, battlemented tower, 
overlooks the lake. A guard walked up and 
down before the door. My two custodians 
took me inside, delivering me to a very short 
and broad black-bearded man in a leathern 
blouse, who wore a steel girdle from which 
hung a dozen or more heavy iron keys. 

“A prisoner, M’sieur Ferdinand,” said guard 
number one. 

“ Eh, yes. I ’m not blind. How long a 
commitment ? ” 

“ Until it pleases the Court to call his case.” 

“ Humph,” said the gaoler, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ Come on, my man,” he added to 
me in very good French. I was led to a heavy 
door, barred with great slats. “M’sieur” Ferdi- 
nand took one of the heavy keys from his gir- 
dle, and unlocked the door. Throwing it back 
an inner door of the same character was shown. 
The gaoler called to my two guards to hold the 
outer, while he opened this. As it swung back 
I heard Lazere’s familiar voice, although it 
sounded out of that dismal and filthy place 
faint and broken. 

As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom 
I saw I was in a great room, probably taking up 


222 


The Countess Bettina . 


the whole ground floor of the building; four 
small windows heavily barred high toward the 
ceiling, which was of iron, and a floor of flag- 
ging over which were scattered a half dozen 
iron cots. Six persons were in this room, all 
handcuffed. Three were the Duke of Vaucluse, 
his servant Franz, and the Vauclusian groom. 
The three others were dirty fellows, probably 
local thieves. “ M’sieur ” Ferdinand now called 
to one of the fellows at the outer door, who 
brought a pair of handcuffs that were slipped 
over my wrists. After searching me for weap- 
ons, papers, and money, all of which he care- 
fully pocketed, he went out, closing the door 
behind. 

“ Six of you,” I found voice to say, “ and yet 
you remain in this sty? ” 

Lazere laughed almost uproariously. 

“And you, too, Duesdale, are caught, and in 
gaol with our friends here, all most honorable 
thieves, they tell me.” 

“ Not I,” chimed in one spare-faced, wretched 
creature. “ I am held for attempted murder.” 

“ And were you guilty ? ” 

“ I am sorry I failed,” said the other with an 
oath. “Pardon me, my Lord,” he added. 


Pleasures of Liberty . 223 

“ We are all in gaol, my good fellow, — you 
all guilty, and so I suppose we may be. It ’s a 
sorry ” 

“A filthy place, my Lord,” groaned poor 
Franz, who did not understand his harsh fate 
at all. And yet he would have done aught, — 
suffered aught more, — for his Lord’s sake. 

“Yes, a filthy place,” cried Philip Lazere in 
sudden impotent rage. “You ask why we 
don’t break out. Beyond these windows are 
guards. Do you hear the crunching on the 
gravel?” 

Listening, I did hear the regular tread. 

“ Every hour the gaoler and two armed 
guards appear. And we ” 

“ Are handcuffed ! ” I said. “ Pooh, we 
ave ” 

“ Failed,” said Lazere. 

“ And the Countess Bettina ? ” I whispered. 

“ Poor Bettina ! ” said Lazere. “ They will 
take from me a good name, and honor, and 
Bettina.” 

For a moment he walked up and down in 
that sorriest way to see a strong man — that of 
Complete surrender to despair. 

“Why did we undertake this, Duesdale?” he 


224 The Countess Bettina. 

cried. But he interrupted himself. “ I would 
try it all again, — for her. I am sorry only that 
you are involved in my trouble. Those poor 
fellows, Franz and the groom, are only glad to 
share my misfortunes. But you, Duesdale, are 
different.” 

“ Not a word, my friend,” I cried at this. 
“ I am with you in this out of my own free will. 
Nor can I say I am sorry.” 

I believe we became more cheerful then. 
This imprisonment,— at least not yet, — was not 
that without companionship. Ah, I had known 
the horror of such restraint. Possibly I was to 
know it again. If this room were filthy, — with 
thieves and common criminals, — I had for the 
present at least my friends. 

We talked. We told stories, and listened to 
the thieves’ talk, although Franz tried to si- 
lence them whenever they opened their mouths. 
I discovered, I believe, first in that common 
gaol in Peribourg how rare a good fellow Philip 
Lazere was. His life had been adventurous, 
and mine, and between us we had much to tell 
of men and women and the world. Neither of 
us had had humdrum quiet in our experiences, 
although we well might expect it now. 


Pleasures of Liberty. 225 

In our discussion of what we might do, or 
might not do, we thought of an appeal both to 
the Emperor, and to the English Consul in 
Peribourg. But how could we make it ? 

The search of our persons had left us without 
a paper, or a sou. The gaoler had taken every- 
thing carefully with which we might have 
bribed either him or, if he were corruptible, 
one of the guards. Of course when brought to 
trial we might demand counsel. But what sort 
of counsel could we expect ? And would the 
trial prove to be anything but farcial. We were 
indeed in Monsieur de Perigord’s power. 

“And Este’s,” groaned Lazere, thinking of 
his rival. “ But he never may have Bettina’s 
heart,” he added with a little jocund ring in 
his tone. “ I have the better of him, — forever. 
He is the poor fool, not I.” 

And I, thought I then. What did I have 
out of all this, but some suffering, almost cer- 
tain disgrace. And yet I knew for all our hap- 
less plight that I again, had I the chance, would 
take the same risk. 

Sometimes we talked over our recent adven- 
tures, seeing where we might have bettered 

them. When I told my friend how I risked 

15 


226 


The Countess Bettina . 


converting Monsieur de Perigord to our cause, 
he was inclined to scold my daring. 

“And yet, I don’t know. You may have 
been logical in arriving at that conclusion of 
his character. But, — I think from his point of 
view, he was right. He thinks he has us in- 
volved in certain disgrace.” 

I only had supposed love for a child might 
be greater than family pride. But I had been 
wrong. And greater even than family pride 
was that in keeping his word, whatever the 
cost. In fact, Monsieur de Perigord’s prevail- 
ing trait is stubbornness. 

Two days must have passed. We had the 
most wretched food. Some day when I want 
to pose philanthropically, I will organize a so- 
ciety in London to ameliorate the abuses in 
the gaols in Perigord. Our thieves ate gladly. 
Lazere and I did not get our appetite until 
about the second day, when the bread and milk 
began to have a certain relish. We felt dirty, 
and altogether wretched. The place was foul. 
And our hands and arms were stiff with the 
handcuffs. Franz groaned for his master. He 
could endure it all, he said, but how horrid must 
it be for us the gentle born. He made me 


Pleasures of Liberiy. 227 ' 

think of the rascally Pierre Gallaudet, whom I 
had left at the inn in Peribourg. 

We had no lights. But the long July day 
was taken up then by the moon which sent a 
half light into our gaol. The second evening 
Lazere and I talked long, wondering what might 
be the occurrences in the outside world. We 
talked of the Countess, pitying her, more than 
ourselves, shut up again in her convent. Her 
name was on our lips, I think, when we heard 
the key grating in the outer door, and then at 
the inner, which was thrown back, admitting a 
sudden glare of light from a lantern Pierre 
Gallaudet, — for all the world again, — which 
Pierre Gallaudet held. Back of him stood the 
gaoler, and in the middle of the glare was — 
We shaded our eyes with our handcuffed hands. 

The Countess Bettina stood there in the 
opened door of the gaol, in a riding habit. A 
little coquettish hat held a feather that fell over 
her face. She stood there graciously, command- 
ingly, appearing to us as an angel must to the 
dead waked suddenly out of the wretchedness 
of the grave. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


The Little Great Lady of Perigord. 

“ Off with their handcuffs, wretch,” she said 
to “ M’sieur ” Ferdinand. 

“ But, your Highness?” 

“ Obey me, I tell you,” said the Countess 
Bettina, stamping her foot angrily. 

And she was by Philip Lazere, helping to 
take them off, and crying over him, while 
“ M’sieur” Ferdinand did his part sullenly, yet 
as if not daring to disobey. 

In the background with the lantern the while 
stood Pierre Gallaudet. 

“And how in the name of Heaven did you 
get here ? ” I asked him. 

“ When you, Monsieur, did not return, I went 
back to the convent with our friend, the an- 
archist’s help, and there ” 

“And there, Mr. Dalton, he found me,” 
said the Countess looking up. 

228 


The Lady of Perigord. 229 

“I beg pardon, your Highness, it was An- 
nette.” 

“Of course,” assented the Countess, “you 
saw Annette first. She told me you were like 
an angel, Pierre.” 

“ I ’m only Pierre Gallaudet,” corrected the 
cocker from Mentone. 

“ Mademoiselle is right, you dear fool,” cried 
I, — for now my hands were free from the hand- 
cuffs. “Twice you have been the means of 
setting me free.” 

“ And once, Monsieur, of your imprison- 
ment,” he corrected. 

“And I must tell you,” said the Countess 
Bettina, laughing merrily, and sitting down on 
the cot by Philip Lazere, “ Annette told me 
Pierre was in the village. I cried with joy, after 
all my sorrow. And then suddenly, thought I, 
my father may be ruler of Perigord, but am I 
not next him, his heiress ? Will not these peo- 
ple obey me ? I thought I would try to know 
if Mad'ame, the hostess at the inn, could not get 
me some horses? And yet, how could I get 
word to her ? ” 

Countess Bettina ran on with her story, the 
great feather hanging over her face, while we, 


2 30 


The Countess Bettina. 


the freed, and the still handcuffed and aston- 
ished thieves, and “M’sieur” Ferdinand, the 
gaoler, — while we all listened regardless of the 
danger in delay. 

44 Do you remember Sister Ursula, the door- 
keeper? To her I went. 4 Sister, I ’m wretched,’ 
said I. 4 Ah, you love,’ she said almost re- 
proachfully. And then I stood up, waving my 
hand, like the woman in the play. 4 1 love, and 
I am princess of this land, and you, Sister, al- 
though a nun, will be my civil if not my reli- 
gious subject. I command you to go to Madame, 
the hostess of the Golden Horse, telling her to 
get me ready five horses to take me to Peri- 
bourg to-night.’ 4 But — ’ said Sister Ursula. 4 1 
command, Sister,’ I said then. And she looked 
at me queerly, and suddenly was weeping over 
me. 4 I, too, have loved, and been disappointed, 
my dear lady,’ she whispered, 4 and I will help 
you. Of course, if you command, these peas- 
ants of Perigord will do as you say, for are you 
not after all the heiress?’ And she cried over 
me a minute, — dear soul that she is, — and went 
out, and persuaded the hostess of the Golden 
Horse to get the horses ready. We found two 
side-saddles in the convent stable.” 


The Lady of Perigord. 231 

“ And the Mgther Superior ? ” 

“ Sister Ursula managed carefully. The good 
Mother never so much as suspected our plot. 
We did not do it so noisily as my talk would 
make it appear,” said the Countess Bettina. 

“ Well,” she continued, “ we came here,— it is 
not a long ride. It is past midnight. Nobody 
stopped us. I was going to the castle, but on 
an inspiration I thought I would see if perhaps 
they might have taken you to the gaol. I knew 
what might happen, and I came here first, wak- 
ing M’sieur Ferdinand. At first he was for dis- 
obeying, but I am his princess.” 

“ Yes, your Highness,” said “ M’sieur ” Ferdi- 
nand shamefacedly ; and I understood how 
strong the feeling for feudal privilege still is in 
Perigord. 

I never shall forget that midnight scene in 
the foul room for a moment made fair by the 
Countess Bettina’s presence ; Pierre Gallaudet 
holding the lantern that lit that strange crew 
in that dismal place, — this fair young lady the 
centre of the scene. 

As we reached the door she paused, looking 
back at the three prisoners remaining, who im- 
plored her their freedom. They indeed might 


The Countess Bettina . 


232 

have made a dash for it while we had been talk- 
ing. They probably knew of the guards out- 
side. These guards would permit the Countess 
Bettina to go in, or to take out who she wished ; 
although they were amenable to German law, 
she still was their princess as she was “ M’sieur ” 
Ferdinand’s. I doubted, seeing the devotion of 
these people, if the Prince of Este ever could 
have arrested us as he had done, if she had 
thought to put her command against his. But 
this had not occurred to her until in the des- 
peration of her plight she had dared to com- 
mand, winning almost immediate obedience. 
Yet, if she should face her father, the Count, 
she knew that then her sway would end at once. 
He was before her, the ruler. She had counted 
on not meeting him at all. And again I saw 
that same daring spirit which first in Mentone 
had led her to ask assistance of me, the stranger. 

Now she was pausing at the gaol door, looking 
back at the two thieves and the would-be mur- 
derer who had not tried to run away because 
too surprised, or fearing to be shot by the 
guards. 

“Ferdinand,” said the Countess, slowly, 
“ free those men too.” 


The Lady of Pcrigord. 233 

“But, your Highness,” objected “M’sieur” 
Ferdinand. 

“ Free them, I tell you. These, our friends, 
are here unjustly, — why may they not be? If 
others have had poor service from the law, let 
these fellows free on the mere guess of inno- 
cence — because they must get their chance of 
happiness while we have ours.” 

And I saw in that place how truly after all 
she was Monsieur de Perigord’s daughter, with 
a will as inflexible as ever his. 

Monsieur Ferdinand proceeded to take off the 
handcuffs, and unchain the men. Not permit- 
ted to walk about like us, they were chained to 
the floor. One, as he was freed fell on his 
knees at the Countess’s feet. 

“ God bless your Grace ! God bless you !” 

“Go,” she said, shrinking from him. 

“ But the guards? ” 

“ The guards indeed will shoot them down,” 
assented “M’sieur” Ferdinand. 

“ Follow me,” said the Countess Bettina to 
the three men. 

She led the way to the door of the outer 
room. This was open. 

“ Let these men pass,” she said to the senti- 


2 34 


The Countess Bettina. 


nel there. “ Do you hear, man. I say, let them 
pass.” 

The man, we could see doffing his hat. 

“ As your Highness directs,” he said. 

And the three liberated prisoners filed past, 
into the darkness, and we saw them no more. 

The Countess turned about with a merry 
little laugh. 

“ They ’re Scot free, as you say, Mr. Dalton, 
and now, so must we be. Here Ferdinand, you 
must come with us.” 

“ I, your Highness ? ” 

“ Ah, yes, you. Do you suppose I am going 
to leave you to punishment for this, — not I, 
Ferdinand. Now get horses for yourself and 
the three men outside, for the Duke, and his 
two servants, and for Mr. Dalton here, — seven 
all told.” 

“ I don’t believe I can find them,” grumbled 
“M’sieur” Ferdinand. 

“ Stop,” said the Countess, “ You know 
Jamie, the Scotch groom in my father’s stable. 
Take this note to him. ‘ Send by Ferdinand 
seven horses ’ ; no, ‘ eight, with my own black 
Therese, and bring Maurice ’ — Maurice is my 
black hound. ‘ Ask no questions. Obey ! ’ ” 


The Lady of Per igord. 235 

She wrote it from 1:4 M’sieur” Ferdinand’s desk 
on the gaol paper. 

“ He will obey me,” said the Countess. 

“That I know,” assented “M’sieur” Ferdi- 
nand, bowing, and going out into the darkness. 

Again the Countess laughed softly. 

“ They are my people after all,” said she, like 
the princess she was. “ And, Philip, — Ah, how 
you have suffered ! ’ ” 

I believe we had been watching her with as- 
tonishment, leaving her to direct and command. 
Even the Duke appeared to have lost his voice. 
But if he had not that, he now had her hand in 
his, his eyes telling his feeling plainly enough. 

“ I do not believe they will find us here. 
The guard is not changed under two hours, I 
am told, and no one would think of this hap- 
pening,” continued the Countess. 

“ Of you daring so much ? ” said Philip Lazere. 

“ Why, no. Nor should I have thought it of 
myself. I never imagined I could make people 
obey me like this. I don’t suppose I could out- 
side of Perigord.” 

“ Your Highness ! ” came a voice at the door. 

“ Annette,” said the Countess. 

“ We are waiting. I came to see if you were 
safe,” said the girl. 


236 The Countess Bettina. 

“ She is outside with the horses,” explained 
the Countess at this. “ There are two boys 
from Fiesole besides, with Pierre and myself, 
making riders for the five horses. Go back, 
Annette, and watch with your boys and 
horses. Wait ! Take Pierre.” 

When the girl and Pierre Gallaudet had gone 
out together, the Countess turned from us to 
the desk again. 

“ I have one more letter to write, and I write 
it on Sister Ursula’s suggestion. It ’s to the 
Emperor.” 

“ Oh, to the Emperor? ” I asked, I believe. 

“Yes, to the Emperor, asking him to have 
my father cancel the engagement with Este and 
to permit that with Philip Lazere.” 

“ Stop,” she continued, when Lazere ex- 
claimed at this, “ and listen why I write. When 
his Majesty was the Crown Prince we were 
good friends, and he told me someday, — I was 
only a little girl then, — that he would grant me 
any favor I might ask. I shall ask it now. And 
you know what that favor will be.” 

And she wrote while we wondered both at 
her daring and her cleverness. She alone could 
outwit Monsieur de Perigord, and for the mo- 
ment I believed she would. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


The Chateau of the Duchess de Chatillon in Haute-Saone. 

In this adventure, twice before we had fled 
by night, expecting every moment detention 
or arrest. And I said, standing in the door of 
the gaol at Peribourg, with the sense of fatality 
people often have in the third endeavor, that 
should we fail in this, the whole matter would 
be the most dismal for us all. I knew not in- 
deed how we should carry this out, with the 
large following already engaged about to clatter 
down the town streets, and almost certain to 
awake the place, and lead to our delivery to 
the authorities, or at least to Monsieur de Peri- 
gord’s mercy. I had had my taste of that, and 
I did not like to think of the possibility as I 
watched the Countess at her writing, and my 
good friend Philip Lazere, leaning over her 
shoulder. 

“ Do not look so sad, Mr. Dalton,” she cried, 
237 


238 The Countess Bettina . 

looking up. “ Give me your seal to put on this 
envelope. I declare I have none.” 

“ M’sieur ” Ferdinand had taken that with 
my papers and money, I told her. 

“ Oh, I had forgotten you were prisoners,” 
said she laughing. “ I must go without a seal 
then.” 

“ M’sieur” Ferdinand at this moment ap- 
peared at the door, and she asked him to de- 
liver us our things. He said the authorities had 
these. He had not expected such a change in his 
masters. He was sorry, and the Scotch groom 
was outside with the horses ; all was ready. 

While he was speaking a black Italian hound 
rushed in to the Countess, and she forgot us 
all in fondling it. 

“ My good Maurice,” she said. “ Ah, gentle- 
men, I am a girl with love for a dog or a horse 
that has served me well.” 

“ Or for a man,” said the Duke. 

“ For you all v my good friends. Come, we 
must he going.” 

That indeed now was necessary, although in 
the face of so many defeats I confess I now had 
small faith in our success. 

Outside our cavalcade was almost formida- 


In Haute- Saone. 


239 


ble. The three guards already were mounted. 
The Duke helped the Countess to her seat. 
“ M’sieur ” Ferdinand demurred, saying he did 
not know how to ride, but finally was persuaded 
to a clumsy mount. “ I ’d rather be at my old 
trade of gaoler,” he whined as his beast shied. 
Pierre Gallaudet rode with the maid, and finally, 
the Countess and Philip Lazere leading the way, 
we moved along the moonlit streets, — the mass 
of the castle above, the lake below, the dark 
mountains against the horizon. No one ques- 
tioned, and we were unmolested beyond the 
town again on the highway to freedom and the 
enjoyment of our own wills. 

Once in the saddle my heart returned. I saw 
that we must accomplish our end now ; nay, 
I believed we should. The Countess Bettina’s 
bold plan would be successful, and I wondered 
at the thought that had led her to try her 
power over these Perigord folk. For them, she 
was mistress. The notion was in their blood. 
She could do no wrong. Her they would obey, 
as long as the Count was not present to con- 
tradict his daughter’s order. 

And so we rode, at first slowly and then 
swiftly to a village, on the railway from Peri- 


240 The Countess Bettina . 

bourg to Strasbourg where we hoped to inter- 
cept the midnight express to Paris. For by that 
way we should be out of Perigord the sooner ; 
we had no liking for the danger of the long 
ride could it be avoided. But we had not gone 
far before the Countess saw that we could not 
make the train, and then we decided to cross 
the border into France to the chateau of the 
Countess’s aunt, Monsieur de Perigord’s step- 
sister, the Duchess de Chatillon. This would 
be a matter of twenty miles. The Duchess 
certainly would harbor us. She liked the Count- 
ess Bettina and Philip Lazere. With her we 
could wait until we should hear the result of 
the Countess’s letter to the Emperor. At a turn 
of the way our Mistress called the Scotch groom 
to her, handing him the letter, and giving him 
money to deliver it in Berlin in person. A 
clever fellow, he understood readily, and spurred 
away about the turn to get the Northern train, 
while we kept on our way over the mountains 
to France. 

I felt as I rode on sleepily that I was in 
dreamland, or in some previous existence, in 
the body of some ancestor who in the old time 
must have been accustomed to such enter- 


In Haute- Saone. 


241 


prises. The last days seemed to have separated 
me entirely from my former life and all its ways. 
I thought of the Countess riding out into the 
night to free us, and now with the good chance 
of accomplishment. I thought of Pierre Gal- 
laudet riding behind with Annette the maid, 
of Franz and the Vauclusian groom, and these 
men of Perigord, who followed with the quiet 
faithfulness of dumb beasts. The great hound 
ran by the Countess, now showing in the moon- 
shine, again lost in the shadows. The road 
became steeper, the air of these high regions 
colder. Pierre rode up, asking if I would not 
take his cloak. 

“Ah, you good fellow,” said I. 

“ Monsieur, I would serve you.” 

“ And you have done it well.” 1 

“ I have served myself, too. How else could 
I escape. I stood no chance except with you.” 

Again I admired his wit, that looking always 
for personal profit, now found it easier in serv- 
ing me. I had picked the fellow up in Mentone 
in the strangest way. In the strangest way he 
had been entangled with my subsequent for- 
tunes. Again I saw how curiously God man- 
ages our fortunes among this apparently 


242 


The Countess Bettina . 


inextricable tangle of human creatures with 
some of whom we become involved for weal or 
woe ; Pierre’s fortunes and mine seemed to be 
common to us both. 

Passing some mounted guards, the uniform 
of our attendants, the Countess at their head, 
disarmed their interference. We only left them 
wondering what our strange journey might be. 

Once the Countess drew back her horse to 
my side. 

“ Mr. Dalton,” she said, for she never used 
the new title, “ I have been like a girl, forget- 
ting others, never thinking of those who have 
risked so much in my cause. I do not know 
what you may think of me.” 

The black hound was walking wearily at her 
side. 

“ Think, Mademoiselle,” said I, as I had 
called her on our drive from Mentone to Nice, 
“ that I am like your dog, ready, unquestion- 
ing, to do your bidding.” 

“ Ah, my good, dear friend, I was right when 
I trusted you ; you have been much to me, — 
almost the first, after Philip Lazere.” 

“ And you always will be first to me.” 

“ I thank you ; I believe you,” said the 


In Haute-Saone. 


243 


Countess Bettina, her hand on my horse’s 
mane. “ I am sorry for nothing in all this ad- 
venture, not even for the unpleasantness it has 
caused you, if it has won me your lasting good 
friendship.” 

“ I am glad over it all, Mademoiselle,” said I. 

“ After Philip, are you,” said the Countess, 
urging her horse up to Philip Lazere’s, and call- 
ing back, “ Oh, but I am weary.” 

And my heart beat and I was glad. What 
man may not be glad to have known one good, 
womanly woman in this long dreary life ? And 
after all, this part of it in which I had been in- 
volved with the Countess Bettina was the best 
of all my life. I was not sorry at all, and La- 
zere I had come to hold a friend. 

On this road, as it dips down over the moun- 
tain range into France, is an inn, and here we 
stopped at dawn to take the needed rest. The 
full capacity of the place was taxed to accom- 
modate us. The host did not understand the 
character of such a party, as well he might won- 
der. Some of our fellows stretched themselves 
on the floor, and were at once fast asleep. 
Others nodded over the horses which were 
crowded close together in the farm stable. The 


244 The Countess Bettina. 

Countess, with Annette, found a room, the 
woman of the house bustling about her wants. 
The Duke threw himself on a couch before a 
smouldering fire. 

And I was tired too. Nothing is so weari- 
some as to urge a horse over a strange, moun- 
tainous road in the pitch dark. For during the 
last five miles the moon had set and we had 
ridden in darkness until the dull, white dawn 
showed afar the little village where we were 
stopping. Yet, weary as I was, with all the 
horror of the days in that filthy gaol, and with 
the excitement of the ride, I walked for some 
moments outside while the sun came up over 
the plain where our course lay before me, and 
where the Saone wound in a blue line. And 
then, borrowing Pierre’s coat, I threw myself 
on some hay in the stable to catch a brief, 
dreamless sleep. 

“ M’sieur” Ferdinand awakened me, explain- 
ing I had slept four hours, and that I was to 
come in for breakfast. It seemed that he was 
our banker, none of us having any money. He 
had brought with admirable prudence a bag of 
gold, containing his savings, which he had hid- 
den under a flag in the gaol. 


In Haute-Saonc. 


-45 

The Countess looked fair and merry, with 
never a trace of her recent escapade. 

“We must be going. I never shall feel safe 
until we reach Chatillon.” 

And we were mounted shortly, all much re- 
freshed, riding down the slopes, out of German 
jurisdiction now, into Haute-Saone. 

The chateau where we were bound is about 
five miles from the boundary, and we came 
upon it, a fine old house of Francis I/s time. 
The Countess had been sure of finding the 
Duchess there, because in her old age, she, who 
was one of the great ladies of the Third Em- 
pire, is always in that quiet place, living among 
her cats and dogs and memories. 

As it chanced she was walking in the garden 
when a servant warned her of the approach of 
this strange cavalcade. 

She came to the gate to meet us, a little fat, 
black-eyed, white-haired old woman, walking 
with a crutch. 

“ Bettina ! ” said she. 

“ I, Aunt.” 

“ And what does this mean ? ” 

“ That I have eloped with Philip Lazere.” 

“ Mercy, it looks so. And the scandal ? 
What am I to do ? ” 


246 The Countess Bettina . 

“ Take us in,” said the Countess Bettina de- 
murely. 

“ I can’t, I declare.” 

“And I am to blame,” put in Lazere. 

“ I know that. Men always are. God pun- 
ish them ! ” 

“ We both are to blame,” said Bettina, slid- 
ing from her horse. 

Madame de Chatillon looked at her a mo- 
ment. Then walking toward her, she dropped 
her crutch, throwing her arms about her visitor. 

“ Ah, dear, I . am too old to care for the. 
world. I will help you. But, Philip, you are a 
wretch.” 

“ I don’t deserve her,” assented Lazere. 

“No man could,” said the Duchess. “ But 
come in. So great a party will tax my house, 
yet you are not the kind of visitors that need 
make one apologetic.” 

The tired horses stamped. The air was 
fresh with roses and sweet rurality. The gar- 
dener threw back the iron gates, and we rode 
into our haven. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Epilogue : On the Advantages Sometimes Accruing to 
Those Who Meddle with Other People's Affairs. 

At Madame de Chatillon’s we had a delight- 
ful week of rest, although I was not without 
apprehension of Monsieur de Perigord’s next 
^move, since I now knew that nobleman well. 
We all were fagged with our recent adventures, 
and the rest of that quiet place was needed. I 
saw much of the Countess Bettina ; less, how- 
ever, than I could have wished. Possibly one 
reason for not hurrying back to England was 
her presence there ; and then I was anxious to 
know the outcome, whatever it might be. I 
now almost held it my own affair. 

Yet my matters seriously demanded my pres- 
ence in England. I knew what people would 
be saying over this, my second disappearance 
at a critical time in my affairs. I suppose I 
was accused of not having even common de- 
cency. But then I never have cared much 

247 


248 


The Countess Bettina . 


about any opinion save my friends’, and my 
best friends just then were in Ilaut-Saone. 

Among that number I soon included that 
clever, kind-hearted woman, the Duchess, who 
amused us with numberless anecdotes of her 
own eventful past in that interesting period of 
the Second Empire. She had only her memo- 
ries and, she added fondly, Bettina’s and Philip 
Lazere’s fortune. I believe she wrote several 
letters to Monsieur de Perigord, which, however, 
elicited no answer from that worthy person. 

Our followers were scattered about the place. 
Lazere and I were in a day-dream. The Countess 
Bettina was a sufficient presence for him, and, 
I will be frank, for me. Madame de Chatillon 
said that in the interest of appearances she 
ought to have turned us both out. But she did 
not. “ The matter has gone so far, and why 
should I ? My brother, the Count, will have to 
acknowledge Philip and Bettina affianced. And 
there the matter ends.” 

It ended one evening after dinner when we 
all were in the Duchess’s salon at piquet. 

“ His Highness, the Count of Perigord,” an- 
nounced the servant. 

We all started rather nervously. The Count- 


The Epilogue. 


249 


ess Bettina gave a little cry, becoming very 
pale. Lazere I saw press his lips firmly to- 
gether. Madame de Chatillon, who had been 
in many trying situations probably, was calm 
as a great lady in her own salon should be. 
Small, fat, and with a crutch, she yet was al- 
ways the great lady. Distinction is so much 
a matter of the manner which comes from birth 
and experience. 

If we had expected Monsieur de Perigord to 
be confused we were mistaken. He entered 
calmly, almost nonchalantly, smiling. 

“ Ah, my dear sister,” said he, “ and Bettina, 
— and Philip.” 

“ Ah, yes, Brother,” said the Duchess speak- 
ing for us all. 

“ My children, I might say,” said Monsieur 
de Perigord. “ You may not know I have an- 
nounced your engagement at the Emperor’s 
request.” 

“ At the Emperor’s request ? ” said Bettina. 
“ And I, — I have won.” 

“ And I have lost,” acknowledged Monsieur 
de Perigord. “ But what could I do ? It was 
the Emperor’s request. Este could not gain- 
say that.” 


250 


The Countess Bettina. 


“ Oh, you dear Emperor,” said Bettina. 

“ I was fairly beaten,” went on Monsieur de 
Perigord. “ And, Lord Duesdale, I have fol- 
lowed your advice,” he said, turning to me, with 
a. smile of admirable tact. “ I have told the 
Sisters of Saint Francis that I will build them 
a chapel. They are mollified, and so am I.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Bettina ; “ but you should 
not have put your will against mine.” 

“ Ah, I have found that out,” said Monsieur 
de Perigord. “ Why may I not join you in 
piquet ? ” 

And we sat down and played, and talked, as 
happy a family as one could wish. In the 
course of the evening Monsieur de Perigord 
turned to me. 

“ You were right. I see it now. This course 
is the only one to silence scandal.” 

“ How could we have accomplished it, if I 
had not opened the gaol in Peribourg?” said 
Bettina. 

“You never would have, my dear,” said Mon- 
sieur. 

“And you will pardon M’sieur Ferdinand 
and the men I took?” 

“ Why, yes, as a wedding present,” said Mon- 
sieur de Perigord. 


The Epilogue, 


251 


In the night after this I awoke. The affair 
was settled. I might as well be looking after my 
own. Interfering with other people’s affairs, I 
now knew well the Countess Bettina. If I were 
sad it was done, I was not at all sorry for my 
part. Life is in the ordinary so tiresomely hum- 
drum ; and, oh, for the color of event that now 
was over. 

The next morning I found the Countess for 
a moment alone in the garden. I had told her 
I was to leave that afternoon. 

“ The moral of it all is,” said she, patting 
her black hound, “ what ’s worth caring for is 
worth daring for.” Her eyes were bright, 
smiling. 

“ That,” said I, “ I always shall believe.” 

“ And when you go to England will you not 
leave me that queer Pierre Gallaudet ? ” 

“ He would be too untrustworthy ; ” and yet 
now I would not let him go should he steal my 
last shilling. 

“ He did help, and hinder, too.” 

“ Ah, yes, but in the end his suggestion 
brought me to Peribourg.” 

“ Where you out-reasoned my father,” said 
the Countess Bettina, patting her hound. 


252 The Countess Beitina. 

“ Not until you had outwitted him,” I cor- 
rected. 

“ I hate to have you go. Why should n’t I ? 
And yet I must n’t ask you to stay, for they tell 
me there you have your own affairs. But 
Philip and I shall think of you, shall long to 
have you with us, — always.” 

From a high bush she plucked a red rose. 

“I never was happier than on that ride to 
Nice. Come to us when you can.” 

She held out the rose, her other hand on the 
hound’s collar. 

“ A red fox is the emblem of Perigord. I 
prefer a rose. Wear this for me,” said the 
Countess Bettina. 

Well, I have the dry petals of that rose some- 
where. I do not believe I ever shall throw 
them away. Poor Este has not even those 
petals. When a woman is too charming some 
fellow must suffer a bit, I suppose, and then I 
have some delightful friends in Perigord. Mon- 
sieur de Perigord always is most agreeable. We 
are indeed the best friends possible. As for the 
Countess, there has been that between us which 
will keep us near. If we were lovers, we might 
quarrel. Now we have an honest friendship 


The Epilogue . 


253 


that nothing in the world can stir. The Duke 
and Duchess of Vaucluse will believe in me de- 
spite the best proof of the truth of any evil 
report. 

Returning to London that time, I remember 
one afternoon walking down Piccadilly I met 
Charlie Hawkins. 

“Where have you been, Duesdale? We 
thought you dead too,” he remarked. 

“ Oh, I ’ve been meddling with other people’s 
affairs,” said I. 

“ What a devil of a time you must have had,” 
said my friend, the bore. 

“ The devil of a good time, — a time that 
made me first see truth among falsities,” said I, 
thinking of Bettina in Perigord. 

Hawkins thought me crazy. But then there 
are few fellows like Tom Da Vinne who under- 
stands one. 

And Pierre Gallaudet I have still. I always 
will keep him, although a lazier, more menda- 
cious rascal never served a good master. But 
once he served me well. 

One more word, and the reason why this ac- 
count has been written. Despite Monsieur de 
Perigord there has been some talk. Heaven, 


254 


The Countess Bettina . 


to what limbo can scandal-mongers be con- 
signed ! I suppose a place without scandal 
would be Heaven, except to scandal-morgers. 
But I will not sit by and listen. I was in the 
affair. I know my story. I have written it. 
The people who know easily will understand 
who the real personalities are under the names 
I have used, and I have done my duty. But 
there are other duties. They never end until 
oblivion, and who knows if then. But I am 
better for my adventure and for the friendship 
of Bettina. This is my answer to people who 
talk maliciously of what they cannot know ; 
this, and the story I have told. 

Yet, I can sympathize with a certain pathetic 
self-pity in the player king’s words in the 
Epilogue to All's Well That Ends Well. Ah, 
indeed, “ the king ’s a beggar now the play is 
done.” 


FINIS. 






* 

WORKS BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 


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Browning.” — The Nation. 

XVI. — RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama. i6mo, cloth, $1 00 
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and of power.” — Boston Christian Register. 


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